1917 days ago
As I reflected in my weekend Tomograph newsletter, our time in the South West is drawing to a close. God willing and with fingers crossed, by mid April, the Mrs, Joshua and I will be in the Grim North. And there is thus a determination to enjoy our last couple of months here revisiting places we know well and going to see a few things which we have never seen before.
2266 days ago
It is half term and so I took the younger generation to Salisbury Cathedral where there are two glass panels in memory of my mother and my aunt, as the brass plate between them says, two women who died young.
2267 days ago
I think I said it was the 11th today. It is, of course,the 12th and I am off to Salisbury Cathedral with the Mrs and the younger generation to look, inter alia, at the two Whistler glass plates celebrating the lives of my mother and Aunt. Ahead of that I have a few thoughts on Sosandar (SOS), Milestone (MSG), Frontera (FRR), BNN (BNN) and 88 Energy (88E)
2677 days ago
My mother killed herself in 1976. I did not write about the incident until a couple of years ago when her brother, Christopher Booker, wrote about it in the Daily Mail so pushing me to publish my thoughts. I have photos of mum at home on the wall and there is one of her holding me as a baby. But I'd lie if I said that I thought about her every day or even an awful lot.
3476 days ago
The nature of my mother’s death has been raised by certain “admirers” of mine on Bulletin Boards, the circumstances of my Aunt’s death I have mentioned en passant here before. There are no secrets in the era of the interweb. Both deaths were mentioned in an article by their brother, my Uncle Chris (Booker) in the Daily Mail last week. Slowly I read it early on Saturday morning as it brought a number of thoughts to the surface. Matters not suppressed just forgotten or not reflected upon for a long while. My mother killed herself. My aunt was murdered. There you have it. A shocking couple of sentences.
My mother died when I was eight and my sisters seven and five. She had become terribly depressed in that amazing sun drenched year of 1976 and – as I discovered only later – first tried to end her life at the height of summer while the rest of us were out walking. My father found her, revived her but thereafter she was confined to various hospitals in Northamptonshire, Banbury and finally in Oxford, the City where she had studied, met my father and where I was born. I saw her once that autumn at the Trout at Godstow and she seemed happy. She clearly was not and within weeks she had hanged herself. I remember being taken out of class by a lovely teacher who was almost in tears as she told me that my mother was dead. I cannot remember how I felt or what happened next. I did not find out how she died until I was fourteen.
Not having a mother was a little unusual in those days
