The story of my life in 250 words

Gosh! How do I fit 64 years into 250 words. The answer is I don't! I can't even believe I've been on this earth for 64 years... but that I have, must be an achievement in itself.  Born in what used to be the workhouse at Balby, Doncaster, which was transformed into a hospital as many workhouses were; I was delivered there because I was lying breach or so I am told. The journey to hospital was drenched in a November pea soup fog, all too common in the colliery towns and villages of the Don Valley.  

I survived this rude awakening to 'life awareness' and endured the pollution of smog, smoky coal fires and bitter cold winters from my first childhood bed in a vacant drawer at the cemetery house where my grandparents lived to the back bedroom of a prefabricated bungalow built as temporary post war housing. I developed asthma and TB and at the age of three was not expected to live but I did, thanks to the village pharmacist who loaned out his oxygen cylinder and mask to help me breath and of course my mother's prayers.

Today I can look back at relationships broken and intact, generations of new descendants, adventures and experiences. The life changing sixties, the hates, the loves, the hard work and the seamless care that binds all together over decades and I wonder, how time flies and what more is still to come. No! 250 words are not enough. 

Day One of the August Blog Challenge