As a young person, I had no idea why I had to write letters when abroad, or just away from home for a few days. I sunk into my world to ponder over new experiences.

Writing home on a school camp in, 1969

I was born into a family where letters and memory writing had played a significant role. My grandfather on my mother’s side had written his memories, and the Danish word “Erindringer” was the first difficult word I learnt as a six-year-old.

Emry, the granddaddy, had just died in 1957 and my mother used her spare time to rewrite his compactly written memories in a more readable form. It took me many years to read it my self, and the situation came six years ago when my mother was dying. I read it all and was struck by the lively way it was written, and I read parts of it aloud to her during her last month.

I have recently realised that I am a compassionate person and that writing letters, blog posts etc. helps me understand and digest things.

My mother was among the first tourists coming it England after the war in 1946.

I have a photo album from her tour with other young people on their bikes from Harwich to London and the south of England.

Without their Danish rye bread and salami and liver paste, they would have starved. At one place they were offered a sandwich with a piece of lettuce on.

Boarding the first modest boat

on the deck over the North Sea

One of the young men at the tour

Waiting at Liverpool St. Station

My mother on her way to the wrong side of the road at Harwich

Ruth to the left and her friend Else to the right comforting Ruth

You see the effects of the blitz of London on some of the photos. As a child, I have looked at these photos over and over. The pictures from her tour.

Trafalgar Sq. 6 June 1946

View from St. Paul’s Cathedral 1946

View from St. Paul’s Cathedral 1946

Victoria Station 1946

View from St. Paul’s Cathedral 1946

On bicycles outside of London

on bicycles

on bicycles 1946

“Kronprins Frederik”

“Kronprins Frederik”My mother and her friend Else

“Kronprins Frederik”

My mother Ruth two from left

The boat trip back to the more luxurious ferry ” M/S Kronprins Frederik.”

At a youth hostel in High Gate the host had shouted :

“Two for washing up!”

My mother and a young woman from Manchester reacted and helped on this task.

A stop outside London on bicycles 1946

Waiting for a tyre to be repaired 1946

They continued to write letters and I have the complete collection from their lives describing most events and thoughts from 1946-2008 where both died.

Josey meant so much to me, so when I heard she had died, I had to go to her village outside Manchester and try to get in touch with people who had known her.

They met a last and the fourth time in 2002 in Monton Eccles Manchester.

My mothers love for England came from the days of liberation from the German occupation in May 1945. She had somehow met one of Montgomery’s soldiers Bill, and they got engaged to be married. He later disappeared in Burma. That was the story I heard as a child. She never got over the loss.

Now I just enjoy so much this blog writing. So much has been stored up in my life ready to be shared with you dear readers. I am sharing this post at the blogging event called “Prompt Stomp” and #vintage

Prompt Stomp

The journey to Monton Eccles 6 month after Josey’s death 2010