Mini-me

Seeing that we are on a bit of a dog kick this week, I thought I'd use this image of me - I was only 3 or 4 years old, with my very first doggy love. Her name was Fly. She loved me back, and made herself my guardian. She wouldn't let anyone other than the family come near me.

I only ever saw my father cry twice in his life: the first was when Fly died (she was bitten by a rat); am the second was when my brother was born.

My mother was an excellent seamstress, and she managed to get hold of some parachute silk - rare as hen's teeth in the years just following the War. She had an old treadle Singer sewing machine, and managed to turn out some lovely stuff for herself and for me.

Anyway, this image was taken on the North Yorkshire moors, where we lived some distance outside the village of Cononley (near Skipton).

I still think of myself as a Yorkshire lass.