My Grandmother Cecile: I didn’t meet her: she died aged 20 in 1918 and is buried in Ash KentIMG_0714 

The cottage in Ash my Mother was born in and her Mother died in a day later 1918 – a bit of a wreck-now rebuilt.

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Percival Brimblcombe and the cottage in 1917

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My Beloved Niece SachaOCCM4106.jpg and I found her Grave the year I moved to Folkestone 2010

We took wild Flowers from my Garden

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The Cottage in 2010

A Soundscape created For Amanda Lebus for her art Installation Ancestral Picnic recorded with Mark Hewins in his Studio at home when still in London

 

 

 An extract from The Singers Tale 

ROOTS.

A Bridge looking over my shoulder – present and past

Carefully pushing away the ancient cobweb pictures of the past, brushing them into the dusty files at the back of my head. I must not break the threads. The Singer is easier to find, she is still singing. Sensible Ma Sadie is making the beds, then she will wash the breakfast things and begin the day with Auntie BBC as her constant companion. 

 Linoleum Stairs and Gaslights 

Playing out, bomb sites and table manners and the outside world

 Her family?  She was not plucked from a Gooseberry Bush or found fallen from a London Plane Tree. She had a Grandfather, a Devonshire man called Percival Brimblecombe, the son of a Grocer from Plymouth who was a Plymouth Brethren, a tyrannical and brutal father and he beat his son. Percy had been apprenticed as a shipwright in the Royal Naval Dockyards in Devonport. Percy had no choice in the matter. A clever young man was he, taken under the Boss’s wing, so eventually on to Durham University on a scholarship of £50 a year to study naval architecture in Newcastle and eventually to the firm that built the Titanic at the Harland and Wolf Shipyard in Belfast. He was out in the world and he would never return to his childhood home. The day the Titanic was launched he, along with thousands of others, was ill with the flu. The ship sailed without him. He survived, the man that took his place did not. Without that flu epidemic, this Singer’s Tale would not be sung. The children I gave birth to would not have been born. Turn right or left one day, and your path can be changed forever.

 

 

 

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