My Life in 10 Objects (#2)

I love a scarf; I have a bit of a thing for them. From my Tootal silk scarves to the lovely wooly one my daughter-in-law knitted a couple of winters ago, they all sit in an orderly pile* at the bottom of my wardrobe.

Today's object can be found in amongst them. When my pop sadly passed away in 1983 his estate comprised nothing more than a few pound notes stuffed under the mattress and a modest bank book. Doreen, his second wife, was therefore left enough readies to pay the rent for the next couple of months and not a lot else. Before she took his clothes to the charity shop she asked me if there was anything I'd like. Quick as a flash I said 'That scarf' pointing to the coat hooks in the hallway. Pop's favourite scarf - the one he'd worn for years - hung on a peg looking every bit alone as Doreen would be in that already quiet house.

Nearly 40 years later and I wear it every winter. I'm proud to say it's never been washed and I'm sure I can still smell his scent on it.

As a bonus to today's post you can see another object on display here (#2A!); that's right, the vintage coat hanger. This too has been in my procession for more years than I care to remember: liberated by my dad from the Bonnington Hotel in London's West End sometime in the 60s, this hanger, despite having endured  upwards of a dozen house moves, is still holding up; a coat hanger amongst coat hangers!

* For orderly pile, read heap

This is Pop

I love old photographs. Who doesn't? But when my dad recently gave me a big brown envelope full of random 'family snaps' I was somewhat troubled by the fact that I hardly knew any of the protagonists. 'Go away and write on the back who, where and when,' I told him.

So that's what he did. Now it all begins to make sense. So, knowing how boring other people's photos can be, here's just a small selection. I've now got a photograph of my great great great grandmother.

My grandfather, aka Pop, doing a spot of parading.

A rather nice shot of him with my Nanna on the promenade in Eastbourne in 1963; I love the way men used to wear shirts and ties when visiting the seaside.


And then, at the bottom of the envelope, came The Mystery Woman; my dad put a question mark on the back of her photograph. It would appear nobody in the family knows who she is. She's a flapper and no mistaking. Looks like I could be doing some detective work over the summer.

This post is dedicated to my Pop. John Richard Medd (whose name I share) was born December 29 1906. (my birthday is the 28th) and died December 1983. I think about him often.