Joan had three children, Nora five. They lived in the same suburb and helped each other a lot when their children were small. For example, when I was just a couple of months old I lived with Nora for about a month, when she was pregnant with my cousin Carol, while my mother was in hospital, desperately ill with pleurisy. Another time my mother had my cousin Carol and little Michael to stay with us for a few weeks when my uncle was very ill. And before I was born, when my brother was struck down with polio, my sister went to stay with my aunt's family so that my mother could nurse him full-time.
In the picture, my big sister Brenda is the eldest, sitting in the middle, already a young woman, aged about 17, holding our cousin Michael, the newest and youngest. Our mothers had two of their children just a few months apart. The two cousins at either edge are the same age, Rose on the left and my brother Timothy on the right, about ten or eleven at the time. The two little girls on either side of my sister are my cousin Carol on the left and me, Anne, on the right, born five months apart, aged about four. My aunt had two dear little boys in between Rose and Carol, Alan on the left and Brent on the right.
I always notice hands, and what are we all doing with our hands? We were obviously all told to sit down on the ground and arranged in a triangular dynamic, ready to be photographed. The two at the edges seem the most naturally comfortable, although their hands are still consoling one another. They are old enough to be responsible and smile while they look at the camera. (My cousins are all impeccably dressed and shod, while my brother and I look like barefoot urchins.)
My sister has been handed a very unhappy little baby, and sits awkwardly, her hands unbalanced on the small body, doing her best, and also squeezing out a smile, trying to ignore the crying infant in her arms. Later in life she held and healed (and still continues to do so) thousands of children as a Head Paediatric Sister.
The two little dark-haired brothers look slightly ill at ease, Alan clasping his hands and six-year old Brent playing with something real or imaginary with his fingers, neither of them paying much attention to the person with the camera.
Carol has her hands steepled, a very mature gesture, and sits, legs stretched out, beautiful curls wafting on the breeze, enduring the pose.
And I gaze directly at the viewer with a big camera-induced smile, my hands attached to my leg, making certain it is on properly.
It is always fascinating to look at our families, our relatives, ourselves, and try to remember who we were, or to see where we come from. It was a sunny place, that time, we ran about together, we were fearless and bold, cruel and kind, children learning how to become.
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| Luna examining her summer family in America |
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