One of my great aunts typed her memoir on an old Remington just
like this one, her typing skills meant she did the whole thing with
two fingers. She was partially crippled but cooked, cleaned and
gardened and when we went to stay, took my sister and I for long
walks in the woods holding on to two stout walking sticks. She
knew the names of every tree, bird, wild flower and fungus.
She had lived most of her life in London but when she and her sister
lost their sweethearts in the Great War, neither ever married and
they lived out their lives in Burgh Heath.
Her legacy is just a folder of notes that I’ve copied seventeen times
over the years for family members.
This typewriter is on a shelf in a classroom at The Poetry School in
London
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