Oh my…! I had to re-blog this beautiful post from Sally. Naturally her memories are very worthy of re-blogging, but — shock and awe — she called me a Lady! The only time i ever hear that word in connection with my self is when it is preceded by the words “Crazy cat” (crazy cat lady).
>Seriously though, take a look at Sally’s marvelous walk through a picturesque holiday memory. Be sure to check out the links to the amazing Lord David Prosser too!
> Holiday hugs all around!
My memory of Christmas past is of my father and the 12.45 rule that was strictly adhered to throughout my childhood and teenage years.
My father cooked the Christmas lunch for as long as I could remember which would be from about age four or five. We lived on Hoad’s Hill which was on the main road into the village of Wickham from Portsmouth and Fareham. My mother had been brought up in the village from the age of five. Her father had been killed in the last week of the First World War when she was just 18 months old and my grandmother had worked as a seamstress and eked out the small war pension that she was awarded. Eventually she returned to Hampshire where her mother’s family farmed and to be close to her father and sisters in Gosport.
My grandmother married the master butcher Norman Welch whose…
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