I am not a number . . .

. . . even if it is 49!
 
 
I spent much of today sorting out a box of old photos that were my Auntie’s.  She passed away a few years back and this was just one of the things that I still haven’t done yet.  There were two photos of ‘me’ struggling into a swimming costume  on Cliftonville beach back in the late 1940’s or early 50’s.  So I thought.  So let’s get a bit of nudity into blip, and I found a few more photos to make up a collage.
 
It wasn’t until I blew the shots up I realised that I never had that sort of swimming costume (etc) and it was my cousin.  I don’t think she would approve of being blipped.
 
Anyway, another photo intrigued me.  I’m number 49 in a group of similar young chaps posing for something somewhere.  We are all numbered and looking smart.  Must have been early 60’s (or late 50’s at a pinch).  All had signed the photo folder so it must have been something memorable.  I wish I could . . .  
 
The other two shots are me on my first bike in Woodstock, and me as a junior engineer crossing the line (equator) for the first time – ancient ritual.  ‘Port Line’ were wonderful days.