Memories are made of this

Looking at your photograph the other day; I thought about you. A wedding day shot, with you and mum standing on the Registry Office Steps in London. No flowers, or buttonholes in sight. You were both blind and anyway times were austere then weren't they?

You were strong, determined and bloody-minded and commuted from Harold Hill, Romford Essex to Chelmsford; where you worked as a telephonist.
I worked as a relief telephonist years ago and got in quite a pickle so god knows how you did it without being able to see but true to form you did!

I've written about our lives you know because I feel it is a story worth sharing. It might not be a happy ever after story, although I think it is, but I am biased aren't I?

I can still see you playing your accordion and me standing between your legs and how I looked up to you. I remember how your shoulders shook when you laughed. Remember how I sighed with a silly pride as you put on another classical record or how my heart leapt when you positioned the microphone on the window-sill as we played the games that children play and get lost in a world where children can just be themselves.

I'm proud of you both; surely that's all that matters isn't it?