August yet not august

 Sometimes months become known for events. This August has become a month of loss.

Genealogy dates  the loss of my Great great Grandmother soon after the loss of her new-born daughter. Then there are two birthdates, one for Neville and the other for Doris. Bringing to the fore remembrance of loss.

Moving on to 2023 and the chasm that has opened up with the final departure of Becky.

"She was an amazingly clever woman who fought so hard to live as normal a life as possible. Always witty, talented in so many ways, sharing her life with us here on Facebook."

Becky with Katinka, constant and much-loved companion.

TITANIC MILL Linthwaite

In 1911, the RMS Titanic was launched. Lowestwood Mill, Linthwaite was so large; it became known as the Titanic.

Just as the valleys of East Lancs., became known for cotton and whose mills dominated the towns...so, the West Riding of Yorks. was dominated by woollen mills.

Either side of the Pennines, labourers with transferable skills. 

Shawcar Mill

 

Titanic Mill

Textile 

Lane Top, Linthwaite

1861 census

Typical 'mill' family

Mother, widow, age 43

Sons age 15, 13 and 11

Jobs:-

Burler - removes loose threads, knots, and other imperfections from cloth

Feeder - feeding through yarns

Piecer - joining together of pieces or threads

Mill Hand - general labourer

More details

Changing challenging times

 Returning the Sceptre, Orb and Crown of State to the Altar in Westminster Abbey symbolised the end of the Second Elizabethan Era. Bereft of her symbols of Office, freed from her long life of faithfulness and service.

Leaving behind State and people facing uncertainty, facing the future with trepidation.

Farewell

When

 Your dead exceed your alive and the nos of dead keep on rising. One week ago it was Farewell to a dear friend, mentor and fount of wisdom. For over a decade she replaced the wisdom I'd relied upon from folks now deceased. We'd shared, accounts, reminiscences and attitudes common knowledge to us both.

To every thing there is a season...

Turn, turn, turn

A time to die

A time to love

and so on and so forth

In my family, the dying ages have been 37 and 73 with but one remarkable individual achieving the age of 90.

Impossible as it may seem to those far younger, DEATH has become a constant companion. If only it was Terry Pratchett's Death more rounded and yet more wholesome.

Numerous ads promote getting rid (disposing) of loved ones as mere corpses to be burnt without beel, book, candle or ceremony.

To quote Edna St. Vincent Millay " and I am not resigned"