Today I have been looking through old photos and remembering my young grandchildren as they grew up.
Tempestuous Matilda, always bright and clever, but always ready to argue. She looked lovely in her 'prom' dress, skinny and blonde, now working on a difficult course of fashion, she wants to be a journalist, lost in London somewhere, along with her brother Ben who is also into fashion retail.
Ben, quiet after he had grown out of his early years demanding that we stop at Whitby station on the way back from shopping to see the train come in, the wait could be interminable, they were few and far between.
Tom, the oldest, gentle and quiet, those early days in Bath, as he turned the sitting room into a giant tent with all the chairs and the 'Brum' tape playing in the background over and over again until it got replaced by 'Toy Story'. He hated going for a walk with my two dogs and I had to bribe him with a bun from the bakery on the way back. The day, when with his mother, we were walking up on the downs. Wandering along he screamed loudly, they could have heard him back to Bath. It was a flat thistle he had trodden on, thinking he had been bitten.
Lastly, Lillie the youngest, always left at the dinner table, because it took her hours to eat her meal, the 6 peas she was supposed to eat as VEGETABLES still sitting there. She does better now at 14 years, but I miss her grinding the coffee in the machine as she has done in our house since 3 years old, standing on a stool over the coffee pot. She is the sensible one of the four and will probably be a teacher.
In fact of course I miss them all, three have fledged to university and their visits home will be scarce and the last year has been particularly poignant with only myself for company, and Lucy of course.