I am blessed to have a 90+ year old aunt who is  clear minded, sharp witted and one of the most gentle and generous souls I know.  We love to sit and share stories and she is a treasure trove of memories back to times I never knew but now feel that I do through her wonderful story telling.

She and my Mum and their siblings grew up in a little country town. Their home was a converted shed and the bricks that supported its walls were all hand made by my grandfather.  I know this because I have been showing my Aunt old photos that I scanned and as she looks at them she remembers and as she remembers she tells me the stories that are not in the photo but that surround the photo in her memory.

Grandma at the back door of the country home. circa 1935.

She remembers seeing her father making those bricks and she tells me how he did it and why they have the pattern on them.  She tells me how one day she climbed up on that roof and couldn’t get down. She tells me about the bull that was in the paddock at the end of the garden and how nervous it made her feel when she had to go down the end of the path to the old pan-toilet.  She tells me about the blacksmith that used to be next door to them and so, so much more.

A few old photos, scanned and shown large on an iPad screen, opens us both up to a world long gone but in her mind, not forgotten.