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William and Mary Hall's daughter Susannah, my grandmother, is a major character in this story which charts her years as a teacher followed by her time as a housemaid then her marriage to Evan Voyce and the ups and downs of her child bearing years. There are her aspirations for her second son Walter which helped her to overcome the tragedy of Evan's untimely death. I have written about the impact of the Boer War and the tragedies of the First World War which left a great mark on the Voyce/Voice family.

For the most part it is historically accurate although I have used my imagination to fill in the gaps in what I hope is a realistic way. The completely fictional characters are William Williams, The Prossers in Hereford, Mrs Parker, Mr Davenport, the Robertson family and their household, Florence Smith and the Italian
photographer. They are entirely the work of my imagination.

That visit was not the only one. Throughout the year we kept in touch with many letters and telephone calls and in August on my birthday we went to see her again. She had a bottle of champagne ready to celebrate the occasion and gave to me a card. 'To my dear Sister' it said.

Well just think of that! In all my years of being an only child here was I at sixty-two with a sister. Yes, again it was 'amazing'.

She stood up and went to fetch a wooden box saying there were some things in it that she would like me to have. We sat next to each other on her sofa while she lifted the lid and the layers of family history revealed themselves.

Here was a photo of our mother, Hetty aged about thirty-five, standing next to lovely, dependable Florry; here a later photo of Hetty, smiling coquettishly into the camera; here my grandfather Evan and my grandmother Susannah with their children, Sidney, Florry, dear blonde haired Walter and chubby Hetty sitting on Susannah's lap; here is Evan, already looking gaunt, holding on to the back of the chair for support. Susannah with a worried looking frown is sitting on the chair, her lips primly pinched together.

Then out of the Box came a collection of birth, marriage and death certificates to which, as time went by, I added many more.

She also gave me the locket containing the picture of Walter in uniform that Susannah had worn around her neck.

Near the bottom of the box, hidden away for many years is the wedding photograph from 1890, a symbol of hope for a new life, a moment frozen in time signifying a new start, with Evan, tall and upright, proud of his new status as a married man, seated with one hand on a cane, smart in his new suit, moustache carefully waxed. Susannah, unsmiling, standing at his side, slightly to the back showing respect for her new husband, her hand on the back of his chair signifying her connection to him or was it subservience? Her dress is cinched in tightly at the waist, her hair piled high on her head, her eyes staring straight at the camera.

Who were the other people in the picture?

Susannah's mother Mary is there. Surely she is hoping and praying that Susannah has found a good man in Evan and that their union will be long and happy with a marriage enriched by children.

A shadowy figure in the background is William, Susannah's father. Although I didn't know it at the time when I was with my sister, later on as I found out more about the family I realised that well might he hang his head in shame. He was father to Susannah and her siblings but also father of at least one child born out of wedlock, maybe more.

Who is that other woman? The one with round cheeks and lips upturned at the corners waiting to give a friendly smile to her new daughter in law? She must be Sarah, the Welsh mother of Evan. Later I discovered that as a girl she came all the way from Wales to find work in Birmingham where she fell in love with Evan's father Charley who only just got her to the altar before Evan was born.

And there is Charley with his weather beaten face and twinkly eyes.

Down at the bottom of the box are a few dried petals and a neatly folded length of faded blue ribbon. As I lifted up the petals and let them drift down from my fingers, my romantic mind told me these were the remnants of Susannah's wedding bouquet, now crumbled to dust; faded and gone just as the people here have also all passed away.

Before I continue with the story of my ancestors I must say that sadly that visit on my birthday was the last time I saw my dear sister for, although we continued to keep in touch, during the following winter she became ill and died in February 2005. How I missed her and do to this day but meeting her changed my life and helped me to discover who I really am.

And this is where the story that is fiction wrapped around fact begins; first we go right back to Ann Howells, born in 1769 at a farm on the Long Mynd in Shropshire, who had two illegitimate children whose baptisms, like hers, are recorded in the records of the church of St John the Baptist at Myndtown, Shropshire.