Boxes in the Attic

I used to imagine my brain as an attic containing carefully labelled boxes, which I could open when I wished to retrieve a memory. Now the labels have come off and been reattached to the wrong box, or become smudged and illegible. When looking for a word that I know well, but have temporarily mislaid, I rummage in the wrong box and find a quite different memory from the one I was seeking. Sallie Lloyd-Jones shares some of her memories with us.

Box 6: The day I raised the level of The Atlantic

I was four years old. My family consisted of my Mother, my two elder sisters and Pro, a teacher who spent her retirement acting as nanny or governess to various families with children. My sisters believe she was Mother’s paid companion. I just thought she was someone Mother had met on the boat on our … Continue reading Box 6: The day I raised the level of The Atlantic

Box 5: A Tale of Two (ruined) Wedding Dresses

Our youngest, Leonie, was the first to marry, having asked permission of her two older siblings! I was mindful of the things that slightly marred our own Wedding Day, which was otherwise small, intimate and very enjoyable. One was that my mother and I quarrelled about my choice of wedding dress, and the other that … Continue reading Box 5: A Tale of Two (ruined) Wedding Dresses

Box 2: The Black Cushions

We didn’t often have visitors to our little house in Bermuda. Bermuda was where my family spent most of the war years while my father, who had originally been stationed there, was now at Faslane. My two sisters had friends who would come and join them in the next door pool, or accompany them on kayak trips, but Mother was disinclined to have guests for herself.