I forgot to post a blog on the due date in March – March 14th. It was not so much forgetting per se but down to the fact that I was meeting up with two cousins on my father’s side of the family to try and sort through photograph albums that had been in my grandmother’s desk and now were being divvied up between the families of her children. Of the four children my grandmother had between 1925 and 1930, sadly only one daughter is left – my father was the eldest and the mothers of my two cousins were two of his younger sisters, both now dead. So, our generation is keen to collate as many copies of the family albums as possible in an effort to keep the family history alive in all branches, and with tangible evidence to pass on to our own children. Blogging got put to one side that day, as we shared what we had brought. The photographs, so carefully put in albums and labelled in white ink by my grandfather, tell their story and that of the family they raised, as all albums do. It was an interesting and nostalgic occasion, as well as hugely enjoyable, to be looking at the collective history of our family and the photographs, most sepia-tinted and small, as photos were, kept us fascinated for the better part of a day, as we decided what to do with them and how to do it. There are pictures of a childhood that can never be recalled, a childhood spent in Northern India, as my grandfather was posted there with the Army and where the two younger girls were born. These pictures conjure up images of the Raj and the dying days of Empire and I imagine are photographs that any number of families can boast of, but they are still indelibly family photographs first and foremost, and clearly valuable to us as such. For that reason we, my cousins and I (only three out of eighteen on that side of the family – on my mother’s side I have another twenty-four first cousins), are keen to keep going with our project of memory-sharing and photograph-collecting, in the spirit of my grandparents and their treasured albums.