the people behind the pictures

Dear Sheddists,

you may remember a month or two ago I posted a gallery of photos telling the story of how some beautiful wooden displays were installed at a newly-opened community home. Just click here to have a look.

Well I've been back again, this time to meet Peter and John who came up with the ideas and did the research for the silhouetted images which were laser-cut into the wood.  They're both care workers with the charity that runs the home.

Peter and John prove to be great company. I learn from Peter of his great passion for kites and how he can even fly one indoors. From John I learn of his thirty years service as a taxi-driver and the blossoming career of his son as a model.

Time passes all too quickly and we're joined by June, the manager of the community home, for some final group photos. It's a real privilege to visit places like these and to speak to people who have such passion for their work.  Hopefully this won't be my last time I'm here.

Best regards,

electrofried(mr)

so close ...

i've found him!

Dear Sheddists,

for several months now I've been piecing together my family history.  I would best describe the process as constructing an ever-expanding funnel into the past, with distant ghostly relatives multiplying exponentially before my eyes as I chase down generation after generation.

There have been one or two surprises along the way, including the discovery that a great-great aunt once lived in a house that was subsequently converted into a wool-shop frequented by my dear wife during the early days of our courtship.  History truly knitted into place!

But one relative has remained elusive until today, someone I've been trying to find for many years.  My late mother always spoke so fondly of her older brother, Malcolm. Not one given to expressing her emotions there was a tear to be seen in the corner of her eye whenever she talked of him.  She told me Malcolm had disappeared on his motor-cycle while serving in Singapore during the Second World War. Her biggest regret was that she never knew where he had died.

Well today I found out, and a whole lot more.  My early searches had all chased down blind alleys but this afternoon I tried out one combination after another until at last I hit gold.  It turns out 'Malcolm' was but one of my late Uncle's three Christian names and from this precious scrap of information I've since discovered he was born in 1913, served in Singapore as an army signalman and died in 1942. His name appears on a commemorative column in Kranji and he left an estate valued at the princely sum of £169 14s 7d to his widow, Kathleen. I've even looked at the house where he lived courtesy of Google maps.

This may not seem much in the great scheme of things but to me it means a lot. Malcolm is a ghostly figure who connects the line of sorrow for my mother between the horrors of a jungle hell to the premature death of her daughter, Hilary beneath the wheels of a passing car. She grieved deeply for them both and in a way it feels like putting some bitter memories to rest.

Rest easy mum, I've found Malcolm.

Yours as ever,

electrofried(mr)