Memories are made of this

Esther's life had moved on since Millenium Year when she had made the decision to interview the townsfolk of Finedon.
Like the tide that flows or the rain that falls before the delights of summer she had survived and now wanted to speak out; or rather research/record family history of her little town. A town and a world alien from her Essex world of Swindon Close, Harold Hill,Romford Essex when all her summers were softly golden; guided by blind loving parents-that seemed the way her world would be. But then how could she know or wish to know of the jagged,destructive,uncaring world yet to come following the sudden death of her father James Hopper whilst still a young man.

She had wanted to say to the world that saw her and judged them all as the drink and ensuing poverty cut through this previous comfort with a sharp knife; 'This is not my dad, look, my dad is dead, we didn't chose him' had no hand in chosing this next man who was to become their unwilling step-father.

The years had quietened her pain and so understanding as well as acceptance of the tornado long since past gave her time and space to leave other peoples memories of Finedon following the loss of her paternal family for decades.

There was Jean who recalled her dad returning home following injury at the pits but being unable to stay at home due to no money coming in.
She shared with Esther being thriteen when war broke out and how they had heard this news on the wireless. Her memory of hard distant times grew sharper as she spoke of The Inns of court, stationed in their town, marching with their tin-plates and mugs as they marched through the streets and along Burton Road and into Wellingborough Road to their canteen.
The memories of a lady over ninety recalling ladies making pillow lace in the yards.

Esther knew that others in her town had faced hard-ships far more difficult then hers might ever have been. Yet there was still a quiet pride that lifted her spirits way above the clouds of her past. Even better she had contributed to the future. Did it really matter if she lived in a ex council house. Did it matter; no...it didn't matter. There was one more letter to write;
Dear Dad

It’s strange writing that down, as I have just realized I have never written a letter to you before. I was just eight and three-quarters when you died and, as I have said earlier, it was very sudden. Although it’s taken me an extraordinary length of time to know who I really am, and to recognize the good and do what I can to change the bad. I want to be a good listener, but enthusiasm sees me jumping in, especially when I am with people I don’t know, or feel uncomfortable with. I try so hard to listen, but sadly, sometimes to my shame, I still fail. You never really got to know me as a person, but I will always remember your love, dedication and strength always being there for us all and solid in our lives.
My love never died when you died, instead I think it grew stronger, although how I so wanted to have just one photograph of you to support that love and those memories, but for such a long time there was nothing. Now I have found your family and how wonderful that is. I still seek that family photo of us all taken by the Daily Mirror, the only one in existence; if only I could find that, but it’s there somewhere! What you thought of Joe, I wonder, or of the hatred that for so many years I held in my heart, until eventually I was able to let that feeling go. I will not now know why the letters I sent to Nana Coventry weren’t posted, but now I know she thought and spoke of us all with love and concern. I have talked about you and Mum so proudly, and recognize even more now as a mum, and a new very proud grandparent of little Erin Olivia, some of the challenges you faced. I think I can speak for all of your family, spread so far and wide, how very proud we are of you. We may not always understand one another, but remain united when we think of you both.
Esther looked across at her mum and dad’s typewriters nestling close to each other in the corner of her office and felt a warm glow. Perhaps it’s not the hand that you are dealt in life, but how you play the cards that really matters. Although the body eventually crumples and decays, love, memories and family remain to create their own rainbows in the sky – God bless you, Laura and James, and all my friends, wherever you may happen to be.
Esther strolled out of her front door to rejoin the rest of her family in a more complete world, knowing what mattered was the future as well as the past.

End