not always where you think they should be?
Last Saturday my aunt brought her obviously adorable new puppy home to Kent. Four days later she’d fallen over, broken her ankle, and the puppy is now quasi-adopted by my mum - and living an estimated 150 miles away in Cambs.
Reminds me of family history, looking for people so young, that you think they must still live at home, but employment, poverty, death, lack of space, an elderly relative needing looking after, etc, all conspired to put them in the wrong house on census night - making them all the harder to find decades later.
Still, we wouldn’t want it easy anyway, would we?
Bye
Helen