the book

My last living grandparent, my maternal grandmother Rose, turned 94 this year. She started writing her memoirs a few years ago, living on a different continent I missed her telling the different stories to all her guests. And growing up in different places, apart from when I was very young, travelling with her at 6 months on my first passport and a bit after, and a three month stint in primary school, I have only ever seen her for very short periods on holiday.

Fortunately I can touch type, so when I found she was looking for someone to publish her memoirs, with some help with the typing I volunteered to do so. She lived an enchanted life, the only child of her mother. Despite losing her mother very early she was still treated a fair bit like a princess. And pretty headstrong, she didn’t hesitate to tell whoever needed to hear it what was what, it looks like.

Unfortunately discovered partway through retyping the script that it stopped suddenly, the person who’d been paid to scan it hadn’t quite done the job requested. Soon after the point where she got married to some young man who would later become a lawyer, who wouldn’t take no for an answer. Back then this also meant she had to give up her dream to enter the teacher training college she’d applied to.

a rose

I am still waiting for someone to locate her original hand-written script, she lived a full life, and her one recent wish was to publish that book. It would be a lovely legacy if I could update this post soon with its cover.

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