The picture shows our darling granddaughter Phoebe on Filey beach on Sunday afternoon. The tide was high so none of the little Yorkshire resort's wide expanse of sand is visible. I love this picture even though we cannot see her cheeky little face. She seems to be entranced by the incoming wavelets. Our Frances took the photograph and I like the fact that she has put Phoebe in an off-centred position. Typically, she must have insisted on wearing her wellington boots on Sunday.
Somehow this image reminds me of a painting I once saw in The National Gallery of Scotland - of a little girl crouched on a pebbly beach admiring a stone in her hand but around her were thousands more pebbles waiting to be picked up and examined. It's funny how that picture has remained in my head for forty five years.
Frances was staying in a little inland town called Norton-on-Derwent with her two girls and a friend called Helena who also has two small children. Co-incidentally, Norton-on-Derwent was where my father grew up. and it is where my paternal grandparents Margaret and Philip are buried. Of course they are Frances's great grandparents and Phoebe's great great grandparents.
They were both born in the 1880's, around 140 years before Phoebe came into the world. Also in the grave is my Uncle Jack who died at the tender age of twenty three aboard an RAF Bristol Blenheim bomber that came to earth on November 16th 1940 in a farmer's field in Essex.
Here's Phoebe at the grave:-
I am not sure where the next photo was taken this past weekend but in it you can see Phoebe, six month old Margot and a bloody great big rabbit!
from Yorkshire Pudding https://ift.tt/JGXkyZC