My recent visit to my old home town stirred up lots of memories.  My brothers and I, along with our spouses revisited the area I grew up in.  We drove out to the farm and were all disappointed to see the house neglected, the garden overgrown and obviously not lived in anymore.  But it also looked so small!  As a child it seemed to be a big house, but through the eyes of an adult, its just an ordinary old house.

Then we continued on to a local sthe Blowholes, which had once been on our property, to find that now, as a popular tourist destination, there are boardwalks and viewing platforms where we once clamoured unaided. I was talking to a lady there, and pointed out where I used to walk along the cliff top, and she was surprised that I hadn’t been swept off by the sea.  I said we’d all had all been taught to have a healthy respect for the elements there, and so survived quite well.

After that we stopped at the beach nearby, where I used to catch the bus to school thirteen miles away.  My eldest brother told the story of when I first visited the beach and ran straight into the water.  So they put a harness on me, tied a rope to it and tethered it in the sand so I could just reach the water safely.  I can’t quite imagine anyone getting away with something like that these days, however it must have served its purpose.  The beach had always been referred to as ‘Chrissy’s Beach’ in the family, but I hadn’t realised that I was the one to name it so.  Apparently as a little girl I would point and proudly declare “My beach!” and so the family began to call it that.  Something else I would never had known if I hadn’t spent time with my brothers.

My brothers are eleven and nine years older than me, and it was really enjoyable listening to them reminiscing about their youth.  Some of the stories I’d heard before, but many I hadn’t.  It got me thinking about how these tales will be lost when they go, and thats a shame, because not only are they entertaining, but they tell of lives lived so vastly differently from todays times.    My husband commented – tongue in cheek – that we needed an author to record some of these stories, so that future generations can know about the people who lived before.

So perhaps that will be my next project, to record these stories, not necessarily for publication, but at least for the next generations of our families.  They are interesting to our family, some are funny, others downright naughty, but it also tells a lot about the people who were involved .  The risks they took – and there were many; the fun they had because they had to amuse themselves.  There was no internet, mobile phones or television, which seems quite bizarre really by today’s standards.  So even though we’ve lost one brother, the others will still be able to tell stories about him.  His children will appreciate that I’m sure, as will his grandchildren.

I’ve recorded much of Kelly’s life, although there are probably more tales that could be told. I’m sure every family has stories that future generations would love to know about.  Tales that are told at funerals, family celebrations and get togethers.  Stories that you laugh about, and ones you gasp at in horror.

Does your family have any?   Could you write them up for your future generations?  I know I’m looking forward to sitting my brothers down to reminisce.









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