My grandmother Beatrice Adelaide Norcliffe Hart died in 1919 after giving birth to her only child, my mother, also Beatrice Adelaide (left).
My mother was brought up by her grandparents John Shaw Hart and Jane Clough Hart (below) and became a talented competitive swimmer.
My great grandfather
John Shaw Hart
Brass finisher, crack shot,
motorcyclist and, apparently, fervent disciple of Bleriot.
Wigan Pier as it was
‘My God, Annie!
He’s your Jack again!’
My resemblance to my uncle and namesake, who had been killed when his Wellington bomber crashed in the Second World War, always shocked people who had known him but were meeting me for the first time. My grandmother Annie was disturbingly convinced that I had been sent to her as a replacement for her lost son. Like Will, my younger son, his great-nephew (left) Jack has a timeless young Robert Redford beauty which makes the 1930s clothes seem the last word in style. I wish Annie could have met Will, who is physically so much like my photographs of Jack and has his charm, his easy elegance and his skill at games.