Gertrude Ena was born in 1906 when her father, Walter, was 39, and Mother Emily Jane was 36. She married Arthur Herbert Otton in Birmingham in January 1932 when she was 26 and he was 31. Their son, Laurance Arthur was born in 1936, also in Birmingham. Gerty moved to Branston near Lincoln and near Edna – this must have been late ’60’s. She died there in 1974 when she was 68. Arthur died in Suffolk 10 years later at age 83.

Taken in 1974/8 (because of the car outside the window). I am guessing that Gerty had died at this point.

Gerty had a lot of contact with Ivy from 1934 when they moved into 127 Pierce Avenue, Olton, and Gerty into 28 Hanbury Croft, Acock’s Green. The former was at the top of what seemed a steep hill, and the latter was at the bottom of it (the hill now appears absurdly flat). Laurance was the son my parents wanted, but delayed having until after the war; which they did having me in 1945. I used to spend a lot of time with Laurance who was some 9 years older. He was very interested in radio and worked at one point for Cuttriss the local radio and television dealer in Acock’s Green. He gave me a short wave radio set and I used to spend hours scanning the overseas airwaves looking for interesting stations. I used to visit on a Sunday morning but he was so boring as he did not get up till 11 or so and I would be there around 9.

Family gatherings were always great fun, with Sunday teas being the highlight. Canned salmon and Co-op chocolate cake were my favourites, and Aunty Gertie always gave me an end bit which had more chocolate on it.

The house was situated on a turning circle at the top of the Croft and so the back garden splayed out proving to be much bigger than it appeared from the front. Uncle Arthur had a set of workshops outside the back door which I found fascinating and would wander it to look round. A very handy man as I recall. He had a motor bike, or at least something like a Velocette which was like a bicycle with a motor on it. He used to travel to work and back, and one day he was knocked off it. Quite a serious accident I believe, and certainly in hospital for some time. If I recall correctly he had a dry Birmingham type sense of humour (which coming from London seems at odds).

The timing escapes me now, but at some point, I think after we moved away from 127, they moved to Branston upon retirement. They secured a lovely bungalow on the main road to Potterhanworth along by the egg packing station.

I don’t recall why she died, nor her funeral, but it was inconceivable that we did not attend, so need some prompting on this one.