Named at last

 This is my great-uncle Charlie, whom I never met, but whose sword and medals are still in the family. I have seen his name on the Thiepval Memorial, commemorating those who died but whose bodies were never found, but it was never put on the war memorial in his native village of Whittington, Staffordshire. Now, with cost shared with Big Sister, that has changed. One of these days I'll go and see.

The point of no return

So here we go, well almost, leaving a phase of life that we'd semi-vacated, quite behind. Regrets? We've had a few, but then again....................
The Kate's Cottage phase had it's good times. We had good neighbours, enjoyed proximity to hospital, buses, and the ability to walk into the city centre. We improved the house with a sun room/conservatory, downstairs loo and upstairs 'studio' and the gardens front and back drew satisfying gasps.
We thought in our older years we'd move back; it seemed sensible; but it's not happening. Friends still live nearby, but relatives, no. And Miss P has no interest in returning.
Perhaps that's sensible, they say going back is not a good idea.
Unless like me you skip a couple of generations and go back to where your grandmother was born. But even she didn't stay, so who knows where we'll be in ten years time.
Meanwhile we are glad that we seem to have managed to find new inhabitants of Kate's who will appreciate it and be an asset to the street.

Time to say goodbye