Old Photos Day 2.

I have one of the family albums containing the old photos I gleaned from my dad’s sister, my Aunt Muriel, sitting on the dining table.
She knew when I used to go and see her in her latter days, up in Rawtenstall, as she was in failing health with cancer, that I loved old photos and used to get the random boxes of her old ones for us to look at together.
Eventually as I was the only one interested in them (my 3 cousins not very much) she let me choose the ones I would like.
She and my Uncle John were married at St Mary’s Church Rawtenstall, as was their eldest of their three daughters. All were christened there and regular church members.
This photo is of my paternal grandparents. Caroline Opie and Fred Smith, on their wedding day at St Mary’s Parish on July 15th 1918.
Stephen and I were married there on July 14th 1973.
My grandmother’s sister Beatrice was also married there.
She and Caroline used to walk down to church together every Sunday. They sat in the same place each time.
Auntie Beattie, as I knew her, had an infectious laugh and smile. Plus that slightly “posher” accent I alluded to yesterday.
It has stirred such memories looking back through the lens of our history.
What a time they lived through.
WW1, the Depression, then WW2.
But my grandparents lived to see some of their grandchildren married and have children.
On their Golden Wedding the whole family got together.
Their youngest son, dad’s brother, went off to London when he was 16, looking for work. He stayed, got a job, then married, had twins, and made a fortune on real estate when housing was desperately needed after WW2.
When I was passing through London once, with our Matthew, as we then lived in Portsmouth where he (our first son) was born. I took Matthew, (then about 4), to see him in his offices which were in South Molton Street.
Matthew was fascinated by the number of telephones on his desk! Especially when one rang whilst we were there. After a catch up and coffee, we left for Euston and a train up to Manchester. Then a limited stop X43 bus to Rawtenstall, which was going up to Burnley.
It was quite a journey then.
Matthew called my Uncle “that man” which we and my Uncle found very funny.
He used to say to Matthew afterwards “It’s that man again” when the family had get togethers for special occasions. We all laughed.
He and my Aunt and the twins, my “Southern” cousins, lived most of their lives out in Essex. First near Southend, then Hadleigh, moving up to Danbury eventually, and, when the family had flown the coop, living in a beautiful cottage at Maldon on the River Blackwater estuary.
My dad and his sister lived in Rawtenstall all their lives.
Extra of Ellen Opie, my paternal great grandmother. Taken in the late 1800’s.