Readers' favourite photographs, songs and recipes
Snapshot: My aunt the day she was set free
This picture of my father and aunt was taken in 1947. My father had just returned from India where he had been stationed during the war and had remained to support the British withdrawal from India. In this picture my father, Bill, is 21 and Aunt Shirley is 11. On his return home he discovered that, while away, my aunt had become somewhat "precocious" and had been admitted to a psychiatric unit in London (what, in those days, was referred to simply as a "mental institution"). My father was apalled and went immediately to request her release. (Throughout her life she always quipped that she had a piece of paper that confirmed she was sane!) This picture is taken on the day of her release. My father said that he wanted to make the day special and asked what she would like to do as a treat. My aunt had replied: "Get dressed up and have my picture taken." And this is the result. I love this picture. It is full of the love that my father and aunt shared and also the vulnerability and optimism of both of them at the brink of a new beginning. Cathy Hull
Playlist: Following Mum's lead
Come Follow "Come follow, follow, follow, follow, follow, follow me ... "
Towards the bitter end of long family journeys in the 1950s, with the four of us children cramped into the back of the ancient Vauxhall, my mum would allay frayed tempers and fractious whining by singing the first line of this round. We would stop our kicking and pinching for a bit and join in, coming in a line at a time, even Dad in his tuneless basso profundo alternating with a sudden squeaky tenor falsetto would be eventually persuaded to take part.
It goes on: "Whither shall I follow ... thee? To the Greenwood tree", and these words used to summon up for me a medley of Robin Hood, English folksongs, evergreen woods, Thomas Hardy, and a sweet, sad wistfulness. Who exactly was it we were following? Was it the Fairy Queen? Where was the greenwood anyway and were we lost in it?
I recently taught this to our community choir and they loved it: they also couldn't get it out of their heads for days. Perhaps they'll be singing it now to reassure their children and grandchildren too, as they struggle to get home through the snow-covered roads this winter. Alison Cummings
We love to eat: Peaches for breakfast
Ingredients
Large, perfectly ripe peaches
Caster sugar
Rather posh small fruit knives and forks
Our family's holidays were always spent in County Durham with my aunt and uncle. They had no family, so I was conscious that my mother was on pins in case my sister or I did damage to the spotless carpets and polished surfaces, but Aunty Paddy never winced as we rattled around the house.
Breakfast was the polar opposite of today's meal on the hoof: a bright tablecloth with place mats and lots of cutlery for each person. A special set of plates, cups and saucers with matching sugar basin, milk jug etc. Marmalade in a crystal-lidded jar. Silver teaspoons, jam spoon and toast racks. Little rolls of butter on a china dish. Cereals for those who wanted them before the bacon and eggs ? and on the very best mornings, there would be peaches.
The peaches bore little resemblance to the chilled, punneted offerings of most supermarkets today. These oozed sunshine; they had been individually chosen by Aunty P, brought home in brown paper bags, carefully, to avoid bruising, and now sat on the breakfast table tempting us with their perfection. When it was offered, I would take my peach, gently stroking the velvet skin before picking up the fruit knife to peel it. Once the peel was neatly piled on one side of the plate, I took the little fork to steady the fruit, and cut down slices from the stone. Then I would make a heap of caster sugar, stab a slice of fruit with the fork, dip it in the sugar and revel in the contrast of textures ? the unique aspect of the Aunty Paddy peach experience ? as the crunch of the sugar mingled with the ripe, golden juice. It was years before I could countenance just biting into a peach, in the same way as I unceremoniously ate apples or plums.
When the fancy takes me I can close my eyes and reinhabit the more elegant era of our holiday breakfasts. Liz Jackson
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taylor swift eminem megan fox rush limbaugh and kathryn rogers hilary duff and mike comrie
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