I wanted to play with the boys' Beebe gun which was outside in the bach. So I sneaked out alone to see if I could shoot it, but I got my finger caught as it snapped back. It was only later that I realised I'd broken my finger, but meantime the skin and tissue was torn rather nastily. I quietly sneaked back inside to where Mum kept the old rags and bandaged my finger. I didn't tell anyone and noone asked me what I'd done, which suited me! About a week later Mum said, "Take off that filthy bandage! Whatever it's on there for it looks disgusting!". It was decades before I suggested she look at my twisted finger, and I'd tell her a story!
Marie: And yet another story!
It seems to be a trait of the elderly to tell stories and often repeat the same stories. As our family has a major Reunion in February 2015 I will tell a family story each day and NOT repeat it for 100 days. I will use christian names from our earlier generations as pseudonyms.