The more pleasant memories of an earlier life welling up lately are connected to my paternal grandparents.
They lived in what was then a beautiful leafy part of Holland. It was called Blaricum. Perhaps just an hour or so southwest of Amsterdam. Here is their rather grand house with thatched roof.
The little girl sitting on the fence is my father’s sister Ank with her sibling brother and sister standing underneath. At about the same time this photo was taken I also spent some time there. It would have been soon after the war. The only memories I still have is the smell of turpentine. My grandfather was a painter. When I did some searching on the internet I discovered he did many religious murals, both in Holland and Germany. Here is a lovely photo taken of him from outside in the garden painting while framed inside the widow. In the foreground on the left you can see a fleeting image of my grandmother carrying something. There might have been a group of people in the garden and perhaps she was bringing tea? In any case. A lovely photo with him painting and smoking a pipe as well.
It is rather idealistic, isn’t it? I am sure I have seen a similar shot of either Cezanne or some other French painter and perhaps the photographer was inspired by that photo. A pity I don’t know who took the photo. It would have been one of their six children, perhaps my father. He did have a camera. It was one of those concertina type of Leica cameras. It could also have been one of his sisters who became quite a photographer.
This last photo would have been taken towards the end of their lives after my parents migrated to Australia in 1956. My parents never saw them again. Both my grandfather and grandmother are wearing slippers, both somewhat stooped.
And so it goes.