My Mum was a free spirit. She smoked like a chimney and drank like a fish. I am not at all like her, except in looks. I drink like a chimney and smoke like a fish.
My Mum had a child out of wedlock. Though a Catholic girl in the Fifties, she never once felt ashamed of her beautiful boy. I had my first child a definite five years after my wedding.
Mum joined the Army as a teenager; she was stationed in London. She didn’t much like it and went AWOL with a friend, running home to Nan in Liverpool. Nan gave them food, bath and beds, then took them to the police station next morning, where they gave themselves up. The Army was lenient.
Mum loved working and hated that I loved being a stay-at-home Mum. We disagreed a lot, about a lot of things. Except that we loved each other. I always knew I could count on her.
I don’t know the half of what she got up to in her life, though I have learned a bit since she died. I am too strait-laced to share what I do know (I make rulers look like elastic bands) but, trust me: she was a free spirit. I miss her every day.
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