Triggering Memories.

A Memory of Pymore.

We were clearing the last furniture from my mother's bungalow a few weeks ago. A heartbreaking task, having lost her in April. Behind the last set of drawers, on the floor, I found an old sepia photograph. It showed a group of children with some adults, outside a building which must have been a chapel or a school. From the clothes they wore, the photo would have been taken in the early 1920s.

Later, I searched the internet for clues, looking especially at the areas where my mother grew up - Salway Ash in particular. So I found the Francis Frith site.

There were no clues for Salway Ash, but I came to the Pymore site. One photo. Surely it couldn't be! Yet it was - the cottage my grandparents lived in when we were young! The memories flooded back.

We lived in the Midlands for some years, although I was born in Walditch. We were so lucky in that we were able to return to Dorset for holidays, staying with relations, many of whom lived in the Bridport area. We often stayed in that cottage with my grandparents. I remember the feather bed in the attic, the views across the fields. A litle stream ran by the cottage, and there was always the sound of trickling water.I remember too the outhouse across the little yard, how cold it was at night, and to this day the smell of Palmolive soap reminds me of that outhouse.
One of my mother's brothers, his wife and three children lived just down the lane a little, so we were well supplied with playmates. We played in the old factory, and I remember the big mill water wheel, and the swans that nested in the reeds of the mill pool. Yellow irises too. How lucky we were, wandering free as little birds, coming in to be fed, and finally collapsing into bed when the light was going, safe and so aware of the love that surrounded us.

We spent other holidays with another aunt and uncle and more cousins, in Burton Bradstock. Joined by yet more family, there were some very big family gatherings on the beach at Burton Bradstock and West Bay - so many happy memories. Thankfully, we moved back home to Dorset in 1958. Eventually Nan and Grandad had to leave the little cottage behind, but their hearts were always there. I have not been back - except so often in my mind. Now I look at the picture my mother painted of the cottage, and the albumn photo from Francis Frith, and I know out time there will never be forgotten