Memories of being tucked up in an old fashioned wooden bed in the front bedroom at grandma and grandad’s two up, two down.
The room my Dad and his brother would have shared.
Me and my little brother kicking down to try and release the tightly pinned sheets. The reassuring warmth of pastel striped flannel sheets.
The smell of coal fires.
The dressing table covered in old jewelled pots of face cream.
This morning I have to finally say goodbye to these sheets. Max the dog had an over zealous stretch on our bed and ripped them.
It was going to happen. Dad gave them me years ago when clearing out at Grandmas, they weren’t even meant for the bed. For L’s home birth that never went to plan, or for dust sheets. But instead they became bedsheets.
Like my dad Mr A cant wait to replace them with something more modern. Leaving me to ponder what to do with them.
Can’t bear to be parted from them.