Those are the bones of the story, but I have very little flesh to lay over them. My mum didn't remember that time at all, and her mother was my ghastly grandmother (to distinguish her from my lovely grandmother) who didn't talk about it, or at least not about my mother's part in it, which was the part I always wanted to know.
And yet, and yet ... Look at the photos. Hints of the story are there. You can see the seeds of the woman in that little girl. And that fierce finger in the last photo as my mum is poised to run. An entire relationship in a single gesture.