[Nell]

People seem to want to cling to the stories about being done down or badly treated.

The only family story I have is one that can't now be proved or disproved, but my Dad told it to me and I cherish it because it's inexplicable.

My Dad's father, Jeuel, was a picture framer and had a shop in Stoke Newington Church Street. One day when my Dad was little, in the 1920s, a woman came into the shop with a photograph of the King. (People used to have photos of the monarch on their walls, like Alf Garnett).

The lady was recently married and expecting a visit from her parents who were going to stay for a few days. She wanted to impress them and made a great song and dance about the photo and the frame, which had to match the woodwork in her hall and the mount had to be just so, etc etc and most importantly it had to be ready in a week in time for the visit. My grandfather assured her the work would be done to her satisfaction and she left the shop.

My grandfather picked up the photo, looked at it, and then threw it behind a very heavy filing cabinet. My father looked puzzled and grandfather said "She doesn't want a picture of the king!"

All that week my father was on tenterhooks wondering what would happen when she came to collect the framed photo.....but she never did.

How did my grandfather know??!