Mom: 1 PC: 0

Far too late in the day (so to speak) I've been tracing my family history. And, I've been doing really well - simply because my Mom is still around at 95 with a razor sharp memory for anything prior to rationing finishing (which, spookily enough, was nine months before I was born). She can remember her grandparents and consequently remembers the stories they told to her about their grandparents
- which I think takes us back to about Henry VIII.

Having researched the BMD Indexes and Censuses and found a few anomalies there were a few things that needed clearing up.

We went to visit last weekend.

"Hello Mom, can you tell us about your uncles and aunts?"
"Yes, Uncle Harry was Mayor Of Wolverhampton and Uncle Frank's son, Norman was Mayor too at some point."
"Wow, that real interesting, were you proud of them?"
"Nope, bloody Labourites all of 'em, not like my friend Enoch1, he was lovely he was, he came to visit here once you know..."
"Ok, moving swiftly on, what about Uncle Bernard's family?"
"Oh, his brother, Bernard2, was a hairdresser, nice man, but a raging poofter..."

My wife intervened.

"Mom, you can't say these things nowadays!"
"I bloody well can! ...why has my television control changed colour?"
"It's because they're turning the TV off in March and we've had to have you moved over to satellite."
"What! Who did that? Was it that sodding Tony Blair?"

Um, time to go.

We drove back home, I think it was near Corby Services when my wife asked me "How old do you have to be before "jailing" and "not in the public interest" come into play?"


1Enoch Powell
2I can explain, but I'd have to kill you.

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