Lemon Lady

It's always a pleasure to pickup the lady that I know as the "Lemon Lady." I call her that because of the bag decorated with pictures of lemons she always caries as her souvenir from Sorrento. 

 It would be rude to give away a lady's age, but at 21 she was assembling pieces of WW2 Wellington Bomber in Barrow's Hunters yard. Her fella, she has told me, bravely fought his way through the desert campaigns of North Africa and went on to survive the bitter fighting all the way up through Italy. Sadly after all this he went on only to lose his life at an early age from something which nowadays is survivable. She says he couldn't be replaced and has lived as a widow ever since.

 She likes to reminisce of holidays she has taken with her son to places where her fella served, one of them being Sorrento, hence the lemon’s bag. This week she asked “what day is it" "Friday" I replied, "oh good “she said "the taxi mans story's will be in the Evening Mail." Beaming she went on to tell me of some of the tales which amused her.

 Suddenly all the hours of slaving over a hot keyboard and struggling with my poor spelling and bad grammar became somehow worth while.