This photograph, taken at 'The Laurels', home of my maternal grandparents, is packed with them.
The tree in the background, killed by lightning and somehow striking back, grey against the blue sky, with it's bare and brittle branches. An ancient apple tree that produced sweet red fruit, tailored perfectly for a small boy's hand. A water butt where I observed tiny life forms performing in summer's heat, and from where my grandfather released a wheel of ice near the end of the Big Freeze in 1963.
A conservatory (built for £92-15s-9d) heavy with geraniums and waiting for morning glory. Two pale green doors. One, leading to a pre-flush toilet, the other, opening into the sweetest of kitchens where grandmother grew her rice puddings and apple sponges alongside the chicken's 'mash'.
Finally, two kitchen chairs, painted bright blue in a moment of modern madness, and a rickety folding wooden table. This is where we sat, mid-afternoon, with cups of tea circling a beleaguered biscuit barrel. Royal Scot, Princess, and Lincoln biscuits, dunked in sunshine and eagerly consumed.
In this picture, it looks as though the breeze was getting up. You can see various papers weighed down with unidentifiable objects. Seems that my grandmother was one for not losing her place, too.
More Sepia Saturday posts HERE