1955

In front of me is a monochrome picture of a family – my father’s – taken on their doorstep many, many years ago. His brothers look like younger versions of their older selves, he looks like a small toddler and his sister is not recognizable. His father and mother look only vaguely as I remember them as well, and my vague memories of his father are not really mine anyway. The picture was taken on a sunny day sometime in the very late 1930s. They look neither happy nor unhappy, merely presented. Neither their clothes nor their pose reflect any special moment, so what was it that gathered them all there together at the same time at the same place for that occasion? Who took the picture? Was it so important? Whose camera was it? Who planted the flowers in the pots by the window? What did they all do after the picture was taken?

As I remember them they are family. Uncles, aunts, grandfather, grandmother. Kindly sorts. The sort who treat children well and dote on their grandchildren. Laughter. Drink. Christmases. Parties. Birthdays. Sunday visits. New Year. Weddings. Sticking together through thick and thin, although the times we knew were neither thick nor thin. Just constant.

Every person in the photograph has died because of their own bad choices in life. Emigration. Bad food. Wayward lifestyles. Stress. Childbirth. Drink.

Later in life, after they have all died I speak with my mother and have my consistent opinions on these people changed forever. My father’s mother was a bitter old woman who scorned every attempt anyone ever had to break away from their lifestyle. His elder brother wept when his wartime romance was broken. Mocked by his mother he became a savage man of black moods and fierce temper. His younger brother was always in trouble with the police and lied and stole constantly. His sister married another woman’s husband, causing their swift departure from the town and later the country. His father died after drunkenly celebrating a football result with his friends. My father was an alcoholic who never grew up and blamed everyone for his own bad preferences in life. My eyes were suddenly opened wide to the humanity behind the faces I thought I knew so well.

Nothing lasts or is as it seems. Nothing is as simple as a monochrome picture of a family taken one sunny day on a doorstep in the 1930s.