The family chart that Susan sent me made me realise just how ignorant I am of my grandfather's family. I notice there are no dates of death and I am ashamed that I can't supply them.

So, Grandfather Henry was one of ten children, and had two sons himself.

I have a photograph of Uncle Alf (I always called them by the names Dad used), in uniform and moustache, making him look a lot older than the 25 or 26 he must have been at the time. At least that was my first impression. Looking at it again I wonder if he didn't get out his old WW1 uniform for the photo. He's standing with a cane and I'm sure he wasn't an officer. I'll bring it to the convention,where I'm sure someone can identify rank, regiment, etc.

It was Alf who left my father the money to buy our first house, and that was when I was four or five (ca 1954).

Aunt Lou (Lucy) was still alive when I was about 10, I think. She was in a nursing home (Woodhall?) and we would visit her sometimes on a Sunday afternoon. She must have been getting on for 90 by then.

Aunt Nell was someone else we used to visit around this time. Nell was widowed by now. I remember it was out in the country somewhere, and Tattershall Bridge sounds right. I can't say I enjoyed these visits. Aunt Nell was nice enough, but I had nothing in common with her. Older people seemed so ancient in those days. More than that, there seemed such a gulf between country life and the town life I was used to. Aunt Nell's home was pantries and sculleries, rag rugs and sterilised milk, old photos and nick-nacks. As she and Dad chatted, they might have been talking a foreign language.

Cousin Walter, as he was always called, was Uncle Joe's son. Profoundly deaf from an early age, he attended a special school somewhere, where he learned to talk (after a fashion) and lip read. I was always amazed at how well Dad and Uncle Ron would chat to him so fluently. I saw him only rarely and found it very difficult at first, but after a while it became easier.

I have a photo of my father, Ron, Walter and the other cousin, Nell's son (I assume, whose name I don't know). I guess he was the father of Frank Lamyman, who was often round at our house. Dad used to give him lifts in his lorry to London, when he was studying there. I've a feeling that Frank has died.

And that is about the total of my knowledge. Sad to say, that whole generation has passed. Ron's widow, Kathleen, is still living in Boston. I hope to bring her to Horncastle next year.

Merry Christmas.