As my interest has been piqued as of late by the welcome appearance of thrice-wed grandmothers, social reformers, lunatics and unmarried mothers – my feelings of female solidarity have been awakened.
At dusk, it is possible to catch a glimpse of a celebrated miniaturist and storyteller wandering through the unquiet streets and secret passages of York, Scarboro' and beyond in a quest to wake the dead.
Have you ever heard the one about how there are only two things that are certain to us?
The first one being that we are all subject to some form of taxation and the second is that one day we WILL all die.
“Look to the past to see what the future holds.” I like this quote from author Celia Conrad in the second of her Alicia Allen Investigates - Wilful Murder. I often find myself looking to the past for if I’m not in search of an elusive ancestor for a client or trawling through the 1911 … Continue reading Heigh Ho! It’s Off to Bow I Go! →
As I watched from the shadows as the volunteers carefully plucked the ceramic poppies from the muddy ground and into the safety of their cardboard nests - I was feeling disappointed that no poppy would be finding its forever home with me.
Although I don’t usually enjoy receiving brown envelopes through the post - I will make an exception when one arrives from the General Records Office or the GRO as it known here in the UK.
Although there are always more questions than answers with Clarice - the events of that week do appear to have happened rather quickly and having taken a look through my archives and in the absence of any memorial card, letter of sympathy or an order of service I have discovered some images from a June visit to Woodlands Crematorium in the coastal town of Scarborough.
Even though 'Poor Clarice' Tibbett breathed her last on Tuesday June 19 1962 - her final journey had begun some three days previously.
For on a cloudy but warm Saturday afternoon - she made the decision to go to an upstairs bedroom and swallow the entire contents of a bottle of prescribed sleeping tablets.
On a cloudy June day in 1962 the loved ones of Clarice Tibbett would experience the heartbreak of knowing that suicide is not painless with the awful news of her death at the age of 48 AND by her own hand.
Many years ago as my Grandmother would regale me with a myriad of tales about our family history - I recall that it was at the first mention of "Poor Clarice" that my interest was REALLY piqued.