I have two posts for you today, and I hope you will take time to look at the other which features an interesting technique that I use in my art. It’s almost like a free tutorial, so it might inspire you. You can find it here. Don’t miss reading this post, though, as there is a rather interesting but sad story included.
The Thursday Photo Challenge this week is Family. I haven’t taken part for a while, but it does fit in with the post I intended for today, so this post will give you a flavour of what you might see if you follow the link. I’ve been thinking a lot about family recently, for a variety of reasons, and next week I’m seeing my favourite uncle, so I’ve been sorting through a few photographs to show him.
Well, now you know what I looked like at 13 months! Of course, there are many more, including this one taken a while later.
Mary, Mary. Quite contrary
How does your garden grow?
I must have been about 5 when this was taken. I remember the costume, it was very pretty, in retrospect maybe much prettier in my memory!
However, the real photograph I want to show you is this one.
The two important people in the centre of this picture are my mother and father. The bridesmaid was a family friend of my mother’s, and the best man….. well, thereby hangs a little tale.
My father came from a small town in Wales, Brecon. In fact, it has it’s own cathedral. It’s a delightful place, and hasn’t changed in many years. He went to school there, and served in the RAF during World War 2. All the boys in his class served in one or other of the armed forces, including the man above on the left. Unfortunately I don’t know his name, but I do know that he joined the army, and served with the Royal Welch Fusiliers. Dad travelled all over the world during the war, but at one point was stationed in Crete with a Sunderland Flying Boat. One day Dad heard that the Royal Welch were on the other side of the island. He walked across, and managed to find his friend from school, and they spent a while together chatting. Dad then walked back to base. The very next day the Germans landed and the friend, and many others became prisoners of war.
The Sunderland Flying Boat was the last to leave the island. Several nights were spent rowing to a variety of coves to collect escaping British airmen and soldiers. Dad was hidden by a Cretan policeman during the day, and owed his life to this. It was a while before he and his friend were reunited, after the war obviously, and back in Brecon. The sad thing is, though, that out of the entire class they were the only two boys that survived the war.
My mother is the only one of the above that is still alive.