Today is my Nana’s birthday. She never liked November much. Of course, when she was born in 1897, it wasn’t Christmas like it is now. Or, in fact, even when she died in 1984. I absolutely loved her and I loved when she came to visit. She only lived about 70kms away but it seemed like she lived on the moon. She came for lovely long visits and then we mightn’t see her for ages. I mean the roads weren’t as good as they are now but there was the train; still she had lots of grandchildren who were keen to see her and she had to divide herself up fairly, I suppose.
Anyway here we are on my first Communion; both looking quite pleased and I note the grass has been cut for the occasion to add extra glamour. My mother made my dress and had to wash it (as she frequently reminded me) three times on the day because I seem to have spent my time running around in it and falling over. Cissie who lived with us gave me the little mass book which I am pretty sure I still have somewhere. I remember her showing me how big the print was – a positive for some reason – and I pointed out that this was only at the consecration (I sometimes think I must have been unbearable) but I loved my little prayer book with its mother of pearl cover and I think she must have known that.
