family – Page 2 – The Countryman's Daughter

A close call for my son

Joey on his third birthday, just three weeks before he fell ill

Joey in Leeds General Hospital after an operation that saved his life after he contracted sepsis

Joey and I on a recent walk around York City Walls 20 years after he contracted sepsis. He lives with the after effects every day, but it’s a small price to pay compared to the alternative.

As I write this, I am basking in the glow of lovely bank holiday upon which it also happened to be my birthday. My boys came over with their girlfriends and yet again I was blessed to receive cards from each of them with words inside that touched my heart.

My older two would be embarrassed if I publicised what they had written, but my youngest, Joey, has given me his blessing to share his message, which had me crying from both laughter and emotion.

He wrote: “From the bottom of my heart, thank you for giving me toilet paper when I come over.

“Thank you for all your sacrifices over the years to make sure we boys were happy and healthy. We don’t forget what you do for us (car insurance, my new bed, pancakes on Sunday, cooking, washing, cleaning, new toothbrush heads, lifts, supporting our choices, and an infinite amount more).”

These are simple things that his words demonstrate he doesn’t take for granted. I need to explain the first line though, and why that hilarious sentence stems from something far less amusing.

When Joey was a toddler, he became ill on a visit to my mum’s. He could not stop vomiting and I assumed it was a stomach bug. I was not too worried at first, but by the evening was getting concerned and took him to the out-of-hours doctor. He advised me that it was likely a bug and to come back if it didn’t clear up.

By the following day, things had not improved. Joey was gulping down beakers full of water, yet did not pass any urine all day. My unease was mounting, and by the evening, I was really worried. Joey would lie down on the sofa, then stand up and run to another seat, as if he could not get comfortable. I called the out-of-hours doctor, and she asked me some questions:

Did Joey have a temperature? I felt his forehead and it wasn’t hot. “No,” I replied.

Was he alert? Yes, he was running from pillar to post.

Was he drinking? “Yes, loads,” I replied, but informed her that his nappy had been dry all day.

She suggested to give it another night and call back if he hadn’t improved by morning.

It was the worst advice she could have given me. What I had unknowingly described were classic signs of septic shock, but she didn’t pick up on them. I spent a sleepless night with a child who would not settle, who was vomiting a dark brown substance (I now know were dried specks of blood called ‘coffee grounds’), and I STILL did not call an ambulance because I trusted the doctor’s advice. I ignored all my instincts screaming at me to get help (I have never done it since).

I took him back to the doctors first thing and we were very soon in an ambulance speeding on blue lights to Leeds General Infirmary for emergency surgery to save Joey’s life.

He made it through the operation in which a large portion of his dead small intestine had to be removed. He’d had a Meckel’s diverticulum, which is a pouch-shaped piece of excess tissue many people have from birth. In rare cases like Joey’s, it can become entangled with the bowel, cutting it off. This led to an infection which in turn led to the sepsis, the UK’s second biggest killer after cardiovascular disease. Many kinds of infection can lead to sepsis, so knowing the signs is extremely important. Despite awareness campaigns, it is still being missed, 20 years after it happened to Joey.

Had the doctor worded her questions differently, I believe she would have realised he was in an urgent situation. Joey had low body temperature, which we rarely look for. I now have a thermometer to take accurate readings rather than relying on my hand. Agitation and lack of urination are also signs of the body entering septic shock, the advanced, life-threatening stage of sepsis where the vital organs start to shut down.

The long-term effect is that he lives with the discomfort and inconvenience of an upset stomach every single day. Hence, Mum supplements his higher-than-average loo roll costs.

But that is a very small price to pay to still have my beautiful son in my life.

Do you have opinions, memories or ideas to share with me? Get in touch with me using the ‘Contact’ button on the top right.

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 13th and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 11th June 2025

The oldest are the best

My old school photo taken in 1981 using a camera on a rotating stand

If you moved, you ended up blurry like the boy in the middle of this picture

When I was visiting my mum the other day, who still lives in the house where I grew up, I found an old school photograph that I had forgotten existed. It was taken in 1981 and was a rare ‘whole school’ image. My school used to do this every few years and it was quite a feat to get everyone – pupils, teachers and other staff – to all sit still and and smile (or grimace) at the same time.

To get 450 or so of us in shot, we were arranged in rows of about 80 on a tiered platform. The photographer had to mount the camera on a tripod in the centre of the playground which then rotated from right to left. We were warned sternly that we had to stay as still as possible because if we were moving as the camera scanned us, we would end up out of focus in the final photo. One of the boys did not listen and is forever immortalised as a blurry blob. Another boy, whose ingenuity I rather admire, decided to try and appear on the final picture twice. He started off at one end, then planned to run behind everyone and get to the other end before the camera had finished its journey. Unfortunately for him, he was caught mid-run and unceremoniously plonked in between some much younger boys. He is easy to spot on the final image thanks to standing a good head and shoulders above those around him.

Because the photograph is more than three feet long, it never made it on to any wall, nor into a photo frame, and has remained curled up in a cupboard since 1981.

One of the joys of finding it has been to scan the faces to spot people I knew then, and people I still know now, while laughing at our fabulous 1980s hairstyles. I’m pleased to say that I am still good friends with quite a few of them.

Old friendships are very special, and a few weeks ago I asked if any of you had friendships longer than reader Gurli Svith from Denmark, who told us she had had the same best friend for more than 60 years.

Mary Raynar contacted me to say: “Not quite…Me and Janet met. 59 years ago! I can’t believe I’m saying that!” Mary is my sister Janet’s best friend and they met at primary school in April 1966.

Liz Davidson, who is 78, has the record so far. She still has pals from when she started school at age 5, which adds up to 73 years of friendship. Very impressive!

Lynn Catena, who is originally from Bradford but now lives in Canada, says: “When I visit the UK, I still catch up with friends from the first day of infant school in 1962.”

Artist Neil McBride adds: “It’s 63 years since I became a lifelong friend of my art teacher from secondary school.” I asked Neil if he still sought his mentor’s advice. He replied: “We talk in general terms about art, particularly painting. Where my paintings are quite commercial, his are very purist in contrast so any mutual advice is usually limited to painting technique as any questions arise during discussion. We have some strange discussions about how paint behaves due its physicality, if that makes sense.”

Michale Kilmartin’s comment demonstrated the important role long-term friends can play when you are going through a difficult time: “I’ve known friends since starting school at St George’s Primary in York in 1965. My friend Sean started with me. I became his best man in the 1980s. He supported me through chemotherapy and is still on the end of a phone.”

Lastly Clare Powell has many friends she has known for years, and she wrote me a message explaining her relationships with them from early childhood and into parenthood, where they became godparents to each other’s children. Then, as an afterthought she added: “Oops! I forgot to mention my most important lifelong friend – my husband! We met at school when we were 13 and were part of a gang that are still in touch today. We didn’t get romantic till we were 23 though and now have been married for 42 years.”

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 23rd and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 21st May 2025

Having presents of mind

Reader Clare Proctor, seen here 2nd left with her family, says choosing her favourite day of the year is like choosing between her children – impossible!

Do you remember a few weeks back I asked about your favourite day of the year and mentioned that I treasure the greetings cards that I receive from my boys on special occasions like my birthday and Mother’s Day? They write really lovely things, expressing their feelings in a way that they are unable to do face to face. I commented that in general, girls and women find it easier to talk openly about their deep emotions than men and boys and are far more likely to share their difficulties with close friends and family, who can then offer crucial emotional support.

A few readers got in touch on those two topics. Caroline Newnham says: “We’re not too good as a family at writing heartfelt messages in cards, though one daughter is developing the habit of doing this and I’m not going to discourage it! I asked them not to spend any money on Mother’s Day this year as they’d been very generous for my birthday in February. Some flowers arrived with a message that said succinctly “We have chosen to ignore your silly instruction.”

I loved that, because it sums up what we parents are like. How many of us, when asked by our children what we’d like for our birthday, say: “Oh, you don’t need get me anything!” And do they listen? Of course they don’t, because for them, the pleasure comes from the giving of gifts as much as the receiving of them, and it is a chance to express their love and gratitude.

Having said that, if your relationship with your loved ones is not harmonious, could gift giving be a chance to express that too? Have you ever received a terrible present? Or one that is laced with spite? I have a friend who received a book for Christmas from a relative with whom they had had a recent spat. The book was called ‘S**t Happens, Get Over It’. It ended up in the bin. Another of my friends puts enormous thought into buying special presents for loved ones, not to mention a lot of money too, but she does not always get the same in return. One year, on receipt of a dreary book, she tossed it across the room in disgust at the person’s lack of effort.

It makes me wonder why some people are so good a finding just the right present, knowing exactly what the recipient would like, while others are plain rubbish. I’ll admit that for some of my male friends, I resort to buying them the same thing every year because I don’t know what else to get them. I often rely on the tried and tested – an expensive bottle of wine or, for my brother-in-law, a voucher for his favourite artisan bread shop. I initially apologised for getting the same thing again but much to my relief he replied: “Don’t stop, I love it and use it all the time.”

As for favourite days, Janet Pearce writes: “Our Mother died when we were very young, so Mother’s Day was not a thing in our house. My special day of the year is 13th April, which is the anniversary of my first date with my beloved late husband. We went to Laugherne in South Wales, home of Dylan Thomas whose work we both loved. I still go on the same date each year like we did when he was alive. It is my happy place.”

And Clare Proctor adds: “I don’t have a favourite day of the year. I enjoy every day! It’s like picking your favourite child – impossible because each one is unique and you love them all. As for greeting cards, I have been known to waffle a bit, or write a rhyme, but never too emotional. I’m far too British for that. As for Mother’s Day, I’m a bit of a Scrooge, in that I don’t really believe in it. I tell my girls every day is Mother’s Day in our house. But I do like a card from them, usually humorous rather than sentimental, and being taken out to lunch. But again, they can do that every day as far as I’m concerned!”

What I’d like to know is, what was the worst gift you’ve ever received, and what was the best?

Do you have opinions, memories or ideas to share with me? Get in touch with me using the ‘Contact’ button on the top right.

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 16th and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 14th May 2025

You can lead a horse to water

A drawing of Sir Ralph Payne-Gallwey from Vanity Fair magazine in 1893. Sir Ralph of Thirkleby Hall, paid for a roadside water trough in the village *(Photo: Leslie Ward, public domain via Wikimedia Commons)*

A few weeks ago I wrote about how my best friend and I celebrate the longevity of our relationship by having an annual weekend away together.

Gurli Svith from Denmark wrote: “Your column on friendship touched me very much because I have a very good friend I have known since I was 14 and she was 12. She was going to start at my school and came to my home to ask if we could cycle together. That was the beginning and now being 76 and 74 we are still close friends. We do not meet very often but when we do it is as if we saw each other just yesterday. We can talk about everything, and we have helped each other through hard times. For many, many years we have given each other birthday presents, but sometimes we have not seen each other for two or three years so it is like Christmas when we are sitting there drinking tea, eating cakes and unwrapping our presents.”

Is it true that many people are closer to their best friends than their own family? The saying goes, you can choose your friends but you can’t choose your family, so if you could opt out of spending Christmas and Easter with relatives, would you? (I acknowledge that I might be opening a can of worms with that question!)

Let’s get back on safer ground with troughs. Regular reader Clare Powell says: “We do have a couple of stone troughs we bought in a farm sale in Rosedale in the 1980s (Paid more than we should have because my husband kept bidding against himself – much to the locals’ amusement!). We transported them in the back of a Volvo. No idea how old they are, so it was interesting to read your article. Like you, I never really thought about who made them, and how. And you’re right, your dad would have had the answer at his fingertips.”

He sure did, and I now have the space to tell you what I discovered inside his old file. There were a few cuttings, columns, and notes, one of which was in Dad’s handwriting dated 15th May 1993. He had written it during a phone call from a chap called Dick Thompson who lived in our village and whose family had made locally quarried stone troughs for years.

“Each trough was excavated with a pickaxe and drawn down to the road on a sledge,” he’d scribbled. “It took seven or eight days to make one trough – all sizes done. Circular pig troughs also made so pigs could eat together.” He added that the troughs were made on spec, bought mainly by farmers, although parish councils paid for communal troughs situated in villages.

Among other things, the file also contained a newspaper cutting from March 1973 written by the esteemed founder of the original Countryman’s Diary column, Major Jack Fairfax-Blakeborough.

“The wayside water troughs were a real blessing both to parched travellers and to horses,” he wrote, “Especially in the heat of the summer when roads sent up a cloud of dust. Many of the troughs were erected by landowners who knew their value to man and beast. Some of them have inscriptions which tell us of their donor and his consideration for horseflesh.”

He mentions one between Burnsall and Appletreewick in the Dales which has a Latin verse ‘De torrential in via bibet propteren exaltabit caput’ which translated means ‘He will drink at the spring on the way, and thereafter lift his head with joy’, which is the last line of Psalm 110 in the Old Testament. The Major (and my dad when he wrote about it 20 years later) could not shed any light on who had placed the trough there. Can any of our Dales contingent add any more detail about this particular trough?

Dad mentions another placed at Thirkleby near Thirsk, paid for by Sir Ralph Payne-Gallwey (1848-1916), 3rd Baronet of Thirkleby Hall, who was an accomplished engineer, historian and artist. Its inscription, with a bit of poetic license where the rhyme is concerned, reads: ‘Weary traveller bless Sir Ralph, who set for thee this welcome trough.’

I have a feeling we have a lot more to come on these once indispensable features of our countryside highways and byways.

Do you have opinions, memories or ideas to share with me? Get in touch with me using the ‘Contact’ button on the top right.

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 2nd and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 30th April 2025

A little means a lot

My boys always write beautiful and meaningful words in the cards they give me on special occasions

Spring has sprung in earnest now, and as I write this, the sky is cloudless blue and the sun is beating down. Trees and flowers have burst into life, and the chattering birds are furiously building nests in preparation for the arrival of their young. Life is good!

It has been like this all week and is set to continue well into next. In the UK, because our weather is so unpredictable, we are extra grateful when we get a sustained patch of good weather and never take such things for granted.

A few weeks ago I mentioned that my favourite day of the year is the Spring Equinox because it represents a beacon of hope for good weather after a long, miserable winter. It also heralds the arrival of shorter nights and longer days, which cheers me up no end. I also tried to explain the difference between the well-known Spring Equinox and the lesser-known Spring Equilux which resulted in me declaring afterwards that I needed a lie down.

These two annual milestones are determined by scientists who use the rising and the setting of the sun to calculate the length of daytime versus night. They are each measured slightly differently, which is why we have the two.

Alastair Smith, whose wonderful photograph of a sunrise over Runswick Bay accompanied the column, contacted me to say: “Thank you for the credit Sarah. Your explanation of the difference is deserving of a lie down, however make sure it is in the Spring sunshine. Wishing you a great year!”

And Caroline Newnham said: “It’s all a bit mind boggling for me…I need to lie down after reading it. I understand the Latin but that’s as far as it goes!”

I asked if any of you also had a favourite day and for Karl Lynch it is December 25th: “To me Christmas Day is about sharing and creating memories with loved ones. I believe there’s a child in every one of us, and it brings back memories of feeling safe triggered by the smell of Christmas dinner. Merry Christmas, Sarah,” he says.

Although I do love Christmas Day, the fact that it is such hard work for hosts and ridiculously expensive means it lies further down the ‘favourite day’ rankings for me.

Mother’s Day has not long gone, and that too rates highly on my list because it gives me an excuse to lounge about while my boys pamper and spoil me. They also send me cards in which they write really lovely things, expressing their feelings in a way that they are unable to do face to face. In general, girls and women find it easier to talk openly about their deep emotions than men and boys.

That is a sweeping generalisation, but nevertheless it is a fact that suicide is the biggest killer of males under 50, and three quarters of all suicide victims are men. Not unburdening themselves of their innermost struggles is given as a major contributor.

Undoubtedly women can struggle too, but we are far more likely to share our difficulties with close friends and family, who can then offer crucial emotional support.

One thing I taught my boys when they were very little was to say how they felt when they wrote a greetings card. It was a way to get them to express themselves without the embarrassment of doing it out loud or face to face. For example, instead of the simple ‘To Granny, love from Ollie’ I’d ask them to think of something they really liked about their granny to write down, and so the contents of the card would be more meaningful to her.

They continued to do that into their teens and adulthood, and now, with all of them in their 20s, they write truly heartfelt comments in the cards they send to me and their closest loved ones.

I cannot say if it has helped them in terms of expressing their feelings in other areas of life, and they certainly have not escaped their mental health ups and downs, but I do think it has given them a little leg up in the ability to talk openly about their states of mind.

And sometimes, it is the little things that matter.

Do you have opinions, memories or ideas to share with me? Get in touch with me using the ‘Contact’ button on the top right.

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 18th and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 16th April 2025

Who’s going to watch over us?

Dad signing books in the garden wearing his silver watch

Dad having a cuppa a few years later wearing his smart gold watch

Following my story a couple of weeks ago about some friends who were reunited with lost possessions, Michael Brown from Stokesley got in touch with his own tale. If you recall, one friend, Aisling, thought her diamond wedding earrings had been stolen, only to have them given back to her 10 years later after they’d been found in an old jacket pocket. Another friend, Stefan, was reunited with his smart suit jacket after it had been accidentally donated to the school fair and sold for 50p. Stefan bumped into the new owner wearing it on the street who sold it back to him for 50p.

Michael’s story centres around a Christmas party for members of the National Federation of Retail Newsagents. As District President, Michael was invited to the Newcastle branch’s party in Ponteland one year. He’d been planning to drive back home afterwards but was worn out after a long and tiring journey and on top of that, the weather was awful. Having learned that the pub did not have accommodation, the evening’s host, Richard, offered him a room in his home for the night.

Richard and his wife Karen were very warm hosts and provided Michael with most of what he needed for the night, including a dressing gown.

Michael explains: “The next morning, I slipped on the dressing gown and discovered a watch in the pocket. Reaching the kitchen, I presented my find to Karen. She was overjoyed. Although not hugely valuable, the watch held a lot of sentimental value as it was her grandmother’s and had been missing for quite some time.”

Whenever Michael sees Richard and Karen now, they reminisce about the occasion and Karen’s unexpected reunion with her grandmother’s long lost watch. “That evening has created a special bond between us,” says Michael.

What a lovely tale, with serendipity playing a vital part, as it so often does in stories like this. So many variables had to slot into place to enable Stefan to get his jacket back, for Aisling to recover her earrings and for Michael to discover Karen’s watch. She may never have otherwise found it had she not offered the dressing gown to Michael on his impromptu stopover. Perhaps from above, Grandmother had been influencing the way all the chips fell so that her watch and her granddaughter could be happily reunited.

It makes me wonder how many people still wear watches? I haven’t had one for years and have not missed it because there are so many clocks surrounding me, on my phone, in the car, on household appliances. Having a clock hanging on the kitchen wall that the whole family rely on is no longer necessary thanks to the electronic gadgets at our fingertips.

There’s a fair few of us who will have watches that have been passed down through the generations though. My dad used to wear his own dad’s timepiece, although in later life, a smart gold one replaced it.

A couple of weeks ago, I asked you which is the one item you’d save from a fire and wondered if you’d be practical – like a passport; or valuable – like jewellery; or sentimental – like photos. If I had to choose one of the two watches I mentioned above I’d probably save my dad’s rather than Grandad’s because I remember him wearing it with much pride and therefore has more sentimental value to me. It is a hard choice, though, and I have no doubt that I wouldn’t get rid of either unless I really had to.

Harbouring of items of sentimental value is the reason I have a garage that is still full of boxes I have not unpacked; boxes that contain a load of stuff I cannot bring myself to throw away and yet cannot face sorting out either. How does one make the decision to throw away hundreds of letters sent between myself and my best friend, or my parents, or my siblings? They become even harder to let go once the writer has passed away. But they are in a box, and unlikely to be read by anyone except me, and only now and then. What the heck do I do with them?

It makes me ask again, what you might save from a fire if you had to choose but one item?

Do you have opinions, memories or ideas to share with me? Get in touch with me using the ‘Contact’ button on the top right.

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 21st March and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 19th March 2025

Out of the fire

Betty McDonald on holiday in Southern Spain last year. She has kept diaries since she was young

I’ve had some more feedback from readers on the subject of photographs. Betty MacDonald, who will turn 90 this year (I hope you don’t mind me mentioning that, Betty!) writes: “I have many photographs from years gone by, and memories of sending them off to be developed and printed, and especially onto slides…we used to have many an evening watching a slide show.”

She adds: “I’ve kept diaries for decades, which I enjoy writing, and call my ‘reference library’. I can look up what I did 50 years ago on any given date. These are for me only. I have mentioned to my daughter when the time comes to find a spot in the garden and burn them all, although this might not be possible as I fear the fire brigade might have to be in attendance!

“Queen Elizabeth kept a diary and at 6 o’clock every day she sat down to write in it. So I feel as though I have been in good company…I’ve enjoyed my time with all of my collections of stuff over the years, but nothing is forever.”

Betty’s daughter send me a sweet note about her mother too: “She’s a fantastic mam and nana, always has an interesting story to tell and has such a happy outlook on life.” And at the end she added: “P.S. I won’t burn the diaries!”

Do many people still keep daily diaries? My gut tells me not, because everything is so ‘visual’ today that it is rare to find someone who takes the time to sit down and write about their day. I did it when I was a teenager, and when I was away on a gap year in the mid-1980s. I also wrote diaries when I went travelling in South-East Asia because my dad said I would regret it if I didn’t. They came in useful on my return when the newspaper I worked for asked me to do a series of travelogues about each country I visited. It would have been impossible without the diaries, and so I was very grateful for my dad’s advice.

I occasionally look back upon them now with an understanding of why it was so important to keep a contemporaneous record. There is so much detail that I would never have remembered, and they take me back to a time when I was young and carefree. The 1980s don’t seem that long ago, and yet so much has changed since then that they make a fascinating read. They may not mean much to anyone else, but perhaps my children will one day find them interesting.

Alan Graham also got in touch to say: “I always read your piece and was interested in the recent topic of printing photos. Like others I rarely if ever print photos nowadays but I do print and enlarge those that are good, clear and of lasting interest…and mount them in a traditional photo album, the sort with blank pages and a sheet of tracing paper between…Double-sided sellotape is all that’s needed on the back and they never come adrift, even decades later. A short typed label under each photo (who, where, when) adds a permanent memory.

“I’ve got precious pictures of my daughter growing up, my wife, even my cars and motorbikes going back 40 years and these albums are the things I’d save – as they say – in a fire.”

And that prompts me to ask, what would you save from a fire? Would it be something practical like your passport, or something valuable, like your jewellery? Or like Alan, would it be pictures of your loved ones?

For me, the material stuff means nothing, but there are certain things that cannot ever be replaced, such as signed copies of my dad’s books, handwritten letters from loved ones from years ago. I also have a large collection of birthday and Mother’s Day cards that my children have sent me every year since they were able to write and in which they have written very special messages that I never want to lose.

But, as Betty says, we cannot take everything with us, can we. So if you had to choose just one item to save, what would it be and why? Do get in touch via my contact page to let me know.

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 14th March and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 5th March 2025

Seeing the bigger picture

Clare Powell has photo books printed at the end of each year as a legacy for future generations.

My column about family photos a couple of weeks ago sparked quite a discussion. I was concerned that most of us have stopped printing pictures stored on mobile devices like phones and tablets. Would these photos be lost to future generations who don’t have the passwords to access them?

Mary Raynar has a solution to that problem: “I get mine printed every month, otherwise they don’t get looked at. It’s my job in the winter months to put them into albums. It is much more pleasurable than scrolling on the phone.”

I’m impressed that Mary diligently does that every month. I had always planned to get back to sorting the photos on my iPad, but then so many years have passed now that the job has turned into a monster. If you don’t keep on top of it like Mary, that is the problem.

Liz Davidson confesses that she has lots of old family photos that have not been put into albums. “My sons will have no idea who all these people are. We keep saying we will sort them out one day.”

And that is at the heart of the issue. If the physical photos do not have names, places and dates written on the back, those who look at them in the future will have no idea who it is, what they were doing, or where they were taken. Recording these small details is so important for our descendants to piece together their family’s roots.

Clare Powell is one of those ‘old school’ people who still has her photos printed: “My first grandbaby is due in April and I will be printing pictures. I have framed photos all over the house.”

I stropped printing out my photos and putting them into albums in about 2012 and I do regret it. But Clare has a great solution: “My friend said she waited to the end of the year, then selected a few from each month to make a photo book for the year. I made my first one in 2012 and have made one every year since. Waiting to the end of the year focuses your mind and you get good at editing…During Covid I re-did all my old photo albums and as I had over 40 it was quite a task. As I did it I was conscious that this was a legacy and a lot of the pictures would mean nothing to my children…I always label them so they will know who’s who.”

Photo books come with your pictures already printed in the book, which is a lot less effort than physically putting individual snaps into albums. Clare’s have evolved into diaries in which she writes a review of the year, with captions and dates.

Lynn Catena admits: “I haven’t printed any photos off my phone for ages, although I really think I should print some of my grandsons.”

She adds: “During the Covid lockdown I wrote a ‘to do’ list and going through photos was somewhere on it. I did cull many photos and negatives when I downsized my house 7+ years ago although lately I’m just trying to label those I have on my phone…there’s a picture of someone’s baby… now I’m wondering who it is!”

Lynn Catena thinks she should at least have some of the photos of her grandsons she keeps on her phone printed out, including this one of Cal, born just a few weeks ago.

Lucien Smith has another suggestion: “I do at least print out my Facebook posts using Pastbook, which pops up at the end of each year. Other than that, I don’t print them out.”

Caroline Newnham no longer prints them either: “I’ve stopped getting them printed as there are so many. My husband would print them all but where would they go? We already have boxes of photos in the loft…I’ve made a start on a regular yearbook…It concentrates the mind on the big moments of the year. The first was in 2023 and is great to look back over. It wasn’t cheap and took quite a bit of time and effort but is the way forward I think.”

Neil McBride says: “We often discuss the idea. That’s as far as it gets. Great idea printing an annual.”

Whichever way we want to preserve our memories, whether in print or digitally, these comments show that it is clear still that we need plenty of time to do it.

And how many of us have enough of that?

Do you have opinions, memories or ideas to share with me? Get in touch with me via the ‘Contact’ tab at the top right of this page.

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 21st Feb and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 19th Feb 2025

Picturing the past

I stopped printing photos and putting them in albums in about 2012. Will my great-great grandchildren know what I looked like if they don’t have access to photos of me?

I’ve had a few more comments about the conundrums we face when making decisions about what to do with all the stuff we accumulate over our lifetimes. Should we leave it for our loved ones to deal with after we’ve gone, or should we get rid of it ourselves before we shuffle off this mortal coil? Are those we leave behind interested in the stories behind the things we treasure, or could they not care less?

Lynn Catena, a Brit who now lives in Canada, says: “I doubt my boys are interested in anything I deem sentimental, but I plan on labelling some items. What they decide to do with them after I’m gone is their decision.”

She does have one item of particular significance though, a silver charm bracelet. “My sister gifted it to me when I was her bridesmaid. I have added to the charms (mix of English & Canadian). I have two sons, and three grandsons, so I’ll be gifting it to my nieces, and their daughters.”

Reader Clare Proctor is a self-confessed maximalist, and her house is packed with furniture, antiques and collectibles. She has two daughters with very different attitudes: “Molly said she would get rid of everything, but Lily said she’ll keep it all!”

For Michael Kilmartin, it’s printed photos that he hopes to pass on and points out that few of us print them out anymore. There are devices, like digital photo frames, where you can upload your pictures, and every so often the display rotates so you get to see a variety of your favourite images. But I wonder, 100 years down the line when your great-great-grandchild asks about you, what will their parents show them? Will your future descendants know what you looked like if printed photos no longer exist? Thanks to the photographs that I have inherited, I can see for myself the family likeness in my great-grandparents’ faces and can visualise their lives and contribution to our unique family history.

I stopped putting my photos into albums in about 2012, not intentionally, I just never got round to it as time and technology moved on. I now look through my recent photos via my phone and tablet and have backed them up in ‘cloud’ storage so they never get lost should my devices conk out. But when I’m gone, will my children be able to access them if I forget to give them all my passwords?

Today we don’t have to remember to take a camera to a special event because, thanks to our mobile phones, we have one with us all the time. And we don’t just take one photo, do we, we take lots, and just keep going until we get one we like. I keep promising myself that I will go through and delete all those ‘extras’ and as I write this, I only have 24,893 pictures to go through on my phone (good grief!).

It was not that long ago that we had to be so much more considered about snapping pictures. Firstly, the camera film was expensive to buy, secondly, you only had a limited number of shots you could take before the film ran out, and lastly, they were costly to get developed. As every parent does, once I started a family, I took lots of pictures of the children and religiously had them printed and put into albums. You had to either physically go to a shop or send the films away in an envelope and wait two weeks to get them back.

Do you remember that feeling of eager anticipation as the bulky envelope dropped through the letter box? And that other feeling of abject disappointment when you opened it to find your fingertip in the corner every picture? How would today’s young people cope with having to wait all that time without even knowing if they had taken a decent picture? Too bad if it was taken just as we blinked or sneezed!

Scrolling through photos on a screen is not quite the same as sitting down with a cuppa and turning the pages of the family albums while reading the captions and dates someone has taken the time to write down.

How will the future generations look back on their families’ past, I wonder?

Do you have opinions, memories or ideas to share with me? Get in touch with me via the ‘Contact’ tab at the top right of this page.

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 7th Feb and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 5th Feb 2025

Time to make decisions

Horacio Romeo’s beloved antique mirror has to stay in Buenos Aires, Argentina, because it is too big to bring to his current home in Brazil.

Following my column about the Hugh Pannell clock owned by Arkansas-resident Sandra Parkerson, David Severs has been in touch. David is a descendant of the 18th century Northallerton clockmaker and was able to provide some useful historical context about it. If you recall, the grandfather clock has been in Sandra’s family for more than 200 years, but she is looking to find it a home because it will be too big to take to a new apartment.

David is compiling a record of Pannell’s work and explains that it is unusual to find ‘CLOCK & WATCH-MAKER’ engraved on the name boss. “This is very rare indeed and to find yet another Pannell example is exciting,” he says.

He explains that Sandra’s walnut case is not original: “I have found well over a hundred Hugh Pannell clocks and not one is in a walnut case.” Most of Pannell’s clocks were in cases of mahogany, oak or pine. David has found only one pine example due to the wood not being durable, and mahogany is also quite rare because he would have had to transport it by cart from west coast ports such as Liverpool, which was far more costly than a readily available oak case. Mahogany cases were the preserve of the wealthy, and housed Pannell’s finest pieces. They became more common once the rail network reached Northallerton in 1841, well after Hugh Pannell’s time. Oak cases with mahogany veneer were known as ‘typical Yorkshire cases’ in 1774 when Pannell was working.

David says about Sandra’s clock: “The decoration on the pediment is not something I have seen over here and the split trunk door is also new to me. It is possible that the clock mechanism alone was sent to the USA and then placed into Sandra’s mahogany case upon arrival.”

David adds: “I have found that some 30% of Hugh’s surviving clocks are now marriages which is perhaps not surprising given that it is 236 years and more since he was making clocks…I am aware of his clocks in California, Florida, New Orleans and San Francisco as well as this one in Arkansas. Clocks by his son Joshua…have found their way to Iowa and California and one of his watches to Florida.”

This brings me on to the subject of what to do with meaningful objects you have collected in your lifetime.

Regular reader Clare Powell says: “I inherited my dad’s grandfather clock…and decided to sell it later on. You get nothing for them at auction, nobody wants or has the room for them, even old ones. But I discovered it was handmade by a company in Somerset and he had paid £3,500 for it. I couldn’t bring myself to sell it for £150, so I am still stuck with it!”

In a previous column I mentioned a small wooden box my grandad gave me which I hope one of my sons will keep. Clare explains that the thought of what to do with all her family heirlooms keeps her awake at night: “I am not sure we should burden the next generation with all our ‘stuff’. If you tell them why everything means so much to you, will they feel ridden with guilt if they are not able to keep it all? Then again, if you don’t tell them, then they may wish they did know the story of certain items, like you and your box.”

Horacio Romeo from Brazil, who contacted me through my web page (countrymansdaughter.com), has a similar problem to Sandra in that he has a beautiful mirror that is too big for his current abode: “I love it and enjoy looking at it when I go to Buenos Aires (Argentina) but bringing it here is out of the question.”

Leni Ella says: “My nana used to say, ‘If you want it, put your Monica on it’, the only way you could bagsy something in her house.” (I am assuming Nana meant ‘moniker’ and ‘Monica’ is a family joke!).

My aunt, Liz Davidson, revealed that she has a family heirloom: “I have a crocheted white bedspread that came from my dad and one of his aunties I think. It’s very heavy when you put it on the bed.”

There is only so much the following generation will want to keep so what, I wonder, will happen to grandad’s bedspread?

Do you have opinions, memories or ideas to share with me? Get in touch with me via the ‘Contact’ tab at the top right of this page.

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 17th Jan and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 15th Jan 2025