Martin ThomassonI don’t mean to say I’ve lost count, or that I was found, as a babe, at Victoria Station. What I mean to say is that I have not yet found how to be the age I am. I often don’t feel right, ‘in myself,’ as the saying goes. There are, of course...
Martin Thomasson describes how lockdown encouraged him to rediscover his family’s past and write a collection of memoirs ‘Random Notes from Life’ When my Auntie Madge (my great aunt Madeleine) died, I was very sad; sadder than I’d...
My mum’s Auntie Nora and her husband, Uncle Ben, really, really loved each other. However, their deep and enduring mutual affection might not have been immediately obvious to anyone just listening in. I called round once, unexpectedly, just after...
The first place we lived in after I was born was an ancient stone cottage, with walls four feet thick, property of the printing and dyeing factory in Bradshaw, where my dad worked at the time. I was not quite three-years-old when the factory closed...
There was a time when every bus ride was a job for two people. The driver had his own separate cabin and his own personal door to climb in through, with a single inset step (almost like a stirrup) to help him mount his steed. The other member of the...