My paternal grandparents were born on neighbouring estates in the Talsu District of Latvia. As the crow flies there are approximately 8kms between Nurmhusen, my father’s family’s estate, and Dursupe where my grandmother Sophie Elisabeth Marie von Hohenastenberg-Wigandt, was born on 21 September 1881. I wish I had known that
Fyodor Dostoevsky, the great Russian writer, wrote those words. I’m sure they were written from experience. My grandparents, Paul and Olga Woronoff understood how important hope is to life. If they had not had hope they might not have survived through the tumultuous years that their homeland of Russia threw
Mental fragility – it can happen to anyone and is often triggered by traumatic events. Last week I wrote about my grandmother’s grief and depression, which gave me food for thought – perhaps she had always suffered from mental fragility? I thought I would explore this idea. I know my
When my grandfather, Paul Woronoff, died in 1969 my grandmother, Olga, was devastated. She was 76 years old when he died, and they had been happily married for fifty five and a half years. Olga was not quite 21 years old when she married Paul and he was her whole
I never saw my grandmother get behind the wheel of a car. Whenever we went out as a family, she always sat in the front passenger’s seat, no matter who was driving. It was a matter of respect. As the matriarch of the family, she sat in the front. Once,
Does anyone still recite the nursery rhyme “Monday’s child”? I believe it was written to help children learn the days of the week. It goes: Monday’s child is fair of face Tuesday’s child is full of grace Wednesday’s child is full of woe Thursday’s child has