(from August 2014
I remember writing laboriously with pen nibs and ink, their pattern of blotches decorating my spidery drawl and blue blotting paper limiting the damage. I remember evenings in the sitting room gathered around the piano before TVs usurped the family hearth, my mother playing as we tried to sing along.
I remember watching as my father guided their waltzing steps round the dance floor amidst a ruffle of organza petticoats, his getting up before us all to light the coal fire, and carving beautiful furniture from wooden egg boxes.
I remember helping my mother pluck chickens and shell peas, her superb baking, and how she made our clothes on the little Singer sewing machine. Life was simpler then still in touch with its roots.
Now food comes ready made in packages, entertainment is available at the touch of a button, and central heating means I can snuggle in bed while…
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