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I was thinking about my mother today. You know how it is when you're doing something and it triggers a thought that pops into your head, followed by another, then a whole load of them?
My mum was the youngest child in a family of 8 children. She was born on 4 December 1909 at Rochdale railway station, where her father was Station Master. Her oldest brother, my uncle Frank, was nearly 16 when she was born and welcomed her into the world with the words, "Good God, another mouth to feed", which didn't bode well for their future relationship, though he was a kind big brother until he married. After that, things weren't too brilliant, he lived in Norfolk for most of my life and I hardly knew him. Mum never got over the fact...
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