These are my people

So, family history.
Who's done theirs then ?

This is one of just a few old photos I have of what was my mothers side of the family, the Atkinsons, obviously on holiday at some un-named beach location that I don't recognise as being any of the obvious places such as Scarborough, Bridlington (although it may be) or Blackpool.

Without having to do the research I knew who everyone was in the photo except for the old man in the bowler hat on the left. I seem to recall either my Mother or my Auntie Irene mentioning that he was a Great-Uncle or maybe he was their grandfather, I can't recall, but for the purpose of my research I've assumed that he is their grandfather as he appears in some other photos with the two girls - for no other reason than that actually, you are allowed to cheat a little on family research, just like everyone always claims to be related to King James II.

So from left to right...

My presumed Great Grandfather James Atkinson looking magnificent in his best suit, tie and bowler hat whilst on a family holiday and relaxing on the beach, its good to see that he rolled his trousers up in concession to the general frivolity of the holiday, I've got a superb picture of him and a similarly dressed woman out shooting on a hillside in full tweed sporting attire and a bowler hat, he seems to have been something of a country gent and I can't help but wonder what he did, what was his position in life, and how come his lifestyle wasn't handed down to me ?

My Auntie Irene, the only person in the photo who is still alive and well, living in a sheltered housing complex in Blackpool, mother to my two cousins Alan and Ray, wife to my hilarious Uncle Sid, stalwart of our future family holidays together in Scarborough.

My Great-Aunt Beattie, a lovely lady and a lovely Great-Aunt to have, I used to cycle to her house in Horsforth during the school holidays just to sit in the front room of her old stone terrace house and have a cup of tea and some of her home baked cake. She had had some drama and heartache in her life as her bast'ad of a husband was unfaithful to her on several occasions (more of the slut later), but she would never allow a wrong word to be spoken of his memory - a lovely faithful old lady.

My Mother, Joyce, with a football at her feet although I doubt very much whether she actually knew it was a football as she certainly had no interest in kicking one when me and Ned came along. She and Auntie Irene should have been boys according to their father, and he simply assumed that they were boys when they were young, he was an ace cricketer my grandad and would force his daughters to play cricket on the beach for every day of their holidays, if only the England womens cricket team would have been around in the 1930's then my mum and auntie Irene would have been a shoe-in for it.

My Grandma, Elizabeth, again a lovely old lady in her later years who always kept a bottle of American Cream Soda in her old sideboard for the four of us grandsons when we visited - it was such a decadent thing to do to lower the drinks cabinet section of the sideboard, take one of her sherry glasses and help yourself to some of her American Cream Soda, drinking with your pinky finger sticking out as she had taught us.

My famous Grandad Richard, famous in Meanwood anyway. Stalwart of the Woodhouse cricket club, cricket dominated his life, my grandma was a cricket widow but after he died of lung cancer in 1961 she was ever so proud of his gold medal that he won for winning a local league one year and kept his cricket bat in her sideboard, oiling it with linseed oil still, as she had watched him do so often. I vaguely remember my grandad as I was five when he died and would have loved to have known him better as he always spoke of his joy at having four grandsons and couldn't wait until we had grown a little older and to have taught us the wonder of cricket - unfortunately he died before he got the chance.

The bas'tad Great Uncle Victor who broke my Great Auntie Beattie's heart. He died of lung cancer in 1958 shortly before my brother Ned was born and such was the affection that my Great Auntie Beattie held him in that she asked if Ned could be named in his memory, hence Ned's middle name being "The Bas'tad". My Great Aunt Beattie had suspected his infidelity for a long time before one day she followed him to work on the bus to find him greeted in Leeds by a floozy - I can only imagine what she felt like having sneaked out of the house behind him and somehow hung around out of sight, running to get on the bus at the last minute and sitting downstairs while he went unsuspecting to his upstairs seat where all the male smokers sat, then sitting there and watching him in the arms of a sluttern women as she waited for the bus to pull away so that she could alight at the next stop, heartbroken and just wanting to get back home again, how horrible that must have been for her and how magnificent that she remained faithful and loyal to him right up until his death - yes you're right, I've put her on a pedestal because in reality thats what women did in those days - still, I can think of no other suitable word but "bas'tad" for my Great Uncle Victor, at least my middle name is Richard as I got named after the cricketing hero of the two brothers.


I'd estimate the picture to be in the 1930's, my mother was born in 1923 and I'm guessing that she is about ten years old there so we're talking about 1933-ish, just 15 years after the Great War in which my Grandad and the Bas'tad had served and just five or six years before the world would once again be thrown into turmoil and even as they sat there (presumably) on the north east coast of England, just a hundred miles or so away across the North Sea a small man with a scribbled on joke moustache and a bad haircut was making his plans for European and world domination, and my Grandad and the Bas'tad would once again be called to arms, this time as home guards on firewatch at Leeds railway station armed with buckets of sand and brooms, its a good job that Hitler never invaded this country as the Bas'tad would have had it away with Eva Braun on the 56 bus to Leeds.