I was born in Canada (to British parents) and we lived in the house in the photo above. Isn’t it gorgeous? It was in Winnipeg (I’d like to say it *is* in Winnipeg, but I think it’s been demolished, sadly) and this was at the bottom of the garden:
And this is me and my dad taken in July 1971. Awww.
When they emigrated, they went as some part of immigration initiative that meant they got a one way flight for a fiver. When they came back they had to pay their own way and a flight was waaay too expensive so they came back by ship.
The family legend is that during the passage there was a terrible storm. While Mum and Dad took it in turns to go outside and throw up over the railing, my cot slid from one side of the cabin to the other while I laughed my head off. I’ve always been able to make the best of a bad situation. Plus Paul Newman was on board, but he was in first class and we weren’t allowed in there.
I was four months old here. It’s 1971. My dad was 38 and my mum 33 and I think they both look at least ten years older. In fact, while I think my mum was going for Jackie O (and not succeeding, obviously), my dad looks more like Pop Larkin. The seventies were a cruel decade.
Anyway. Even though I only lived in Canada for four months, I’ve always felt a bit Canadian (eh?) and now my boys are Canadian too (simply due to having me as a mother, the lucky ducks). I’d love to take them out there one summer. Shame our old house is no longer there – it looks perfect.