Alan and Kat have provided the inspiration this week by posting a group photo of a wedding on the Sepia Saturday blog, so I had a rummage in my archives and came up with another photo of Granny from Great Granny’s Album.
This one is particularly poignant as it shows Granny (on the right, being more sensible than usual) and her younger sister, Chrissie, (on the left) in their roles as bridesmaids to their older sister, Margaret. Margaret married George Thom in Perth on 26 October 1935. Granny would have been 26 and Chrissie would have been 22. They both look a lot younger than that to me. There has always been a striking resemblance between Granny and Auntie Chrissie – they both had the same eyes, cheekbones and red hair, but seeing this photo is quite a revelation. Back then it seems, Granny and Auntie Margaret had almost identical facial features – their eyebrows and smiles are very similar in the photo. We called Chrissie and Margaret “Auntie” because they were Dad’s aunties, but they were actually our Great Aunties.
Granny died when I was only 3, but I can remember visiting her a few times, and I remember Auntie Chrissie and Auntie Margaret well. Auntie Chrissie never married, and was a sociable lady who attended the usual family functions with gusto until she was quite elderly. She was also a great letter-writer and kept in touch with many members of the family via the Royal Mail. Auntie Margaret was a typical Perthshire farmer’s wife and lived in a cold stone farmhouse which we visited a few times a year on the way to see other Perthshire farming relatives – usually Dad’s cousins. One year, on the way to the annual raspberry-picking fest (eat your own weight in raspberries, which we did), I was invited to stay overnight at Auntie Margaret’s house while the rest of my family went off to the final destination. I’m guessing that I was about 5 or 6, and it seemed like a great idea at the time (they had a PIANO and a DOG – items which were on my Wish List) so it was agreed that I would stay the night with them. When it came to bedtime, despite the hot water bottle, I was inconsolable – I bawled my eyes out for my Mum and Dad, and must have been a real pain in the butt to my hosts. The dog tried to bite me every time I went into the kitchen, so I hung around in a corridor by the back door until Mum and Dad came to get me. I never got to play the piano, either. At that stage, I hadn’t had any lessons, but I wanted to tinker with it – I thought it couldn’t be that difficult. I found out otherwise a few years later