My Memories of Lahore and the Partition

Although I don’t get too worked up about my origins, I am a Kentish man and my story is of a fanatical wish for me to be born in the right part of Kent.
My mother was in a nursing home in Rochester awaiting my birth just after the war. Just before her waters broke, my father’s relatives put her in a taxi and transported her to a nursing home in Frindsbury.
As soon as I was born and cleaned up my mother and me were transported back to the nursing home in Rochester where my mother continued her convalescing!
You might ask, why wasn’t my mother put in the nursing home in Frindsbury in the first place? The answer is I don’t know. By the time I got around to chasing up the answer to that question my grandfather had died and my father was too infirm to remember!

Summers in the Beaches provided my fondest memories of Toronto

I, too, have lost my mom to ALZ. It took who she was and left a shell of the parent i grew up with. In the end, she couldn't move, speak, or recognize any of us. We did get that moment of lucidity just before she passed away where she spoke and recognized me (called me by name no less). But that was one moment in a thousand. My story and yours just proves that ALZ attacks anyone regardless of age, race, or background. Your grandfather was a brilliant, cultured, learned man – someone whose brain was always racing and snapping with intellect. My mom may have had only an 8th grade education, she was quick minded and the epitome of a country woman who had to figure things on her own. Both of them had a multitude of experiences, yet both disappeared into the disease that eventually claimed my mom and will, no doubt, claim your grandfather. My sincerest condolences on the loss of the person whom you knew as your grandfather and good luck and Godspeed on the journey ahead of you as you help care for him. May your road be gentle…

Montana Mule deer: Memories with my grandfather - …

Apr 13, 2017 · Part of me is grateful my grandfather is dead

Each one of these phases was groundwork for bringing me deeper intobelieving that terrible sexual abuse had actually happened to me. Inmy conversations with other victims of this therapy, this processseems to be a common thread in all of our experiences with AgeRegression/Recovered Memory Therapy.

Memories of My Grandfather: Yiddish Writer, Israel …

submitted by Rosetta Davenport (nee Allison) – 6th Class 30’s
Born in 1923 so was not at Roseville school for many years due to the depression. Walking home (Corona Avenue) from school on hot summer afternoons through the heat haze rising from the melting black asphalt road and once a week skipping music lessons to join my brothers catching tadpoles, until caught. Dancing the maypole, girls and boys, its multi coloured ribbons weaving patterns as we danced. Great fun and happy memories. Due to house renovations I will not be able to attend. I hope it is a wonderful day and lots of fun. Lots of good wishes.

Memories of my Grandfather – Above The Bow Brook

submitted by Trish Kemmis (nee Hall) – 6th Class 51
So many memories of RPS – walking up Archbold Rd to school, my sisters, brother and I – seeing Miss Moore walking too – Monty the brilliant bus driver who knew where everyone got on and where to drop them off – not always at the designated bus stop which made one feel special! The warm milk in small bottles, cold if you were fortunate – marching in the playground to music piped out of the loud speaker above the steps. The boy’s dept downstairs and we upstairs – going to the mysterious boy’s dept for assemblies – Miss Ayling and Miss Goddard – Miss Jurd. Walking to Roseville Theatre for Speech Day – sports carnival up at the sports ground in Clanville Road. Bronwyn & Dick, thanks so much for organising the reunion we are looking forward to it very much

My Grandparents’ Experience and Memories of World …

I think the stress reached its peak when my then 16-year-olddaughter started thinking of suicide and had to be hospitalized. InFebruary 1994, I began to doubt the memories. When I returned to myparents’ home after the divorce, I was certain the memories were nottrue. I started to question my family in detail and read school andmedical records. None of these things agreed with what I had been toldhad happened.