I’m surprised by this photo of my brother, grandma and me. We’re on holiday at some Northern seaside resort, probably Bridlington or Morecambe as it doesn’t look like Blackpool or Scarborough. In the background you can just make out the string of lights along the seafront. My grandma looks relaxed and happy. My brother looks rather stylish, with his Beatles haircut and polo neck. The year is probably 1966 or 67.
Although we spent a lot of time with my grandparents we rarely went on holiday together, but my grandfather had died in 1964. He spent his last months in the sofa bed in the living room, following a bad stroke. He was given a yellow, foam rubber ball which he had to squeeze in his hand. I was shocked that such a sensitive, intelligent man was reduced to this. I was outraged by his death, as if it could have been averted.
I’m now a teenager. I’m dressed in my own style, breaking away from the patterned dresses my mother made for me. I’d soon be longing for boutique made clothes. I wanted to be like everyone else. The skirt is like a tennis skirt. I thought it very fashionable and wore it a lot. The shirt is very like a shirt I have today. In fact the whole outfit is similar to things I wear now, except the skirt would be black, and ankle length. I’m probably responsible for the hairstyle too. I’ve lost my fringe. My hair is pulled back and held in a slide. Not very flattering. I’ve lost the assurance I had as a child. I’m more self conscious. I already have dreams of a different life.
My grandmother has put her handbag down. She’d never have gone out without one. She probably had a summer coat too. In my memory she was always well dressed, yet in photos she often seems slightly unkempt. She’s always in a hat. She had very fine silver hair. I used to brush it for her. There was a mythology that you should brush your hair a hundred times every morning. Then I’d plait it. She’d pin the plaits around the back of her head. I liked staying with her as I was allowed to have my hair free of the big bows my mother favoured. She put my hair in rags every evening. In the morning the rags were removed, leaving ringlets. As a child my mother always had ringlets. Sometimes it’s hard to tell us apart.
From the week my brother was born, I spent a lot of time staying at my Seymour grandparents’. I don’t recall my brother ever staying there. This adds to the element of surprise. I’m pleased to find the three of us together.
Although we spent a lot of time with my grandparents we rarely went on holiday together, but my grandfather had died in 1964. He spent his last months in the sofa bed in the living room, following a bad stroke. He was given a yellow, foam rubber ball which he had to squeeze in his hand. I was shocked that such a sensitive, intelligent man was reduced to this. I was outraged by his death, as if it could have been averted.
I’m now a teenager. I’m dressed in my own style, breaking away from the patterned dresses my mother made for me. I’d soon be longing for boutique made clothes. I wanted to be like everyone else. The skirt is like a tennis skirt. I thought it very fashionable and wore it a lot. The shirt is very like a shirt I have today. In fact the whole outfit is similar to things I wear now, except the skirt would be black, and ankle length. I’m probably responsible for the hairstyle too. I’ve lost my fringe. My hair is pulled back and held in a slide. Not very flattering. I’ve lost the assurance I had as a child. I’m more self conscious. I already have dreams of a different life.
My grandmother has put her handbag down. She’d never have gone out without one. She probably had a summer coat too. In my memory she was always well dressed, yet in photos she often seems slightly unkempt. She’s always in a hat. She had very fine silver hair. I used to brush it for her. There was a mythology that you should brush your hair a hundred times every morning. Then I’d plait it. She’d pin the plaits around the back of her head. I liked staying with her as I was allowed to have my hair free of the big bows my mother favoured. She put my hair in rags every evening. In the morning the rags were removed, leaving ringlets. As a child my mother always had ringlets. Sometimes it’s hard to tell us apart.
From the week my brother was born, I spent a lot of time staying at my Seymour grandparents’. I don’t recall my brother ever staying there. This adds to the element of surprise. I’m pleased to find the three of us together.