Well to be fair all the women in my Mums family were a bit mad. Proper mad that is. Not just peculiar. One of them was actually certified and carried away to the loony bin in a straight-jacket. They held grudges for decades so you very rarely saw more than 2 of them at any one tie. So here’s a rare photo from when they were too old to remember what they’d fallen out about. I think it was taken at my Auntie Margarets 80th birthday but as I’d fallen out with my Mum at the time I can’t be 100% sure. They’re aw lang deid noo anyways so it disnae really matter. From left to right, Grace Hamilton, Eva Martin and Margaret Early – three of the Robinson sisters.
She was a bit too young for the war but when she was 17 my Mum, Grace Muir Hamilton nee Robinson lied about her age and tried to sign up to the Air Force. Of course, she got found out but when my grandparents realised how keen she was they signed the forms and off she went to the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force.
And here’s a picture of my Mum when she was in the WAAFs. She’s third from right, in the back row. Looks like her and her pals were heading out from RAF Wilmslow for a night oot. Probably Blackpool. This would have been around about 1947/48.
She loved it in the WAAF but that may have be due to the fact that she seemed to spend most of her time flying around Europe to play in tennis tournaments!
Yes, my auld Irish mammy, Grace Muir Hamilton nee Robinson would have been 86 years old today. To say we had our ups and downs would be in with a shout for biggest understatement of all time, but that doesn’t mean I don’t miss her. Now and again! Anyway, here she is, in her 1950s prime, auditioning to be a member of the Royal Family.
The Palais de Dance, Fountainbridge, Edinburgh was where my Mum & Dad met. It was also the place my Uncle Phil punched oot a certain Tam Connery. An amazing dancehall, according to my Mum, it was turned into a bingo hall and has been lying derelict for decades while a student housing builder tries to demolish it. Welcome to Edinburgh and their shameful cooncil.
Well, my Dad has now been dead for 35 years, and I only knew him for 14 years, but I still think of him most days. So here he is, in 1950’s glory, with my auld Irish mammy in happier, more glamorous, times. That it to say, long before I arrived!
Well it is, allegedly, summer. And where better to go than the Red Island holiday camp, Skerries, off the coast of Dublin, where every day was a wheelbarrow race. July 1954, click to enlarge. My Mum is second from right, with her pal, Cath Muirhead first right.