Tales of old were on the button

It’s important the parade continues – but safely

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Last Saturday in the Love Southsea market in Palmerston Road precinct, I was captivated by a button stall.

I love pretty buttons.

Well folks, how many of you remember the button box? Every house had one, usually an old biscuit or sweetie tin.

On rainy afternoons in the 50s, my Scots gran would get out the button box and enthral me with stories.

The silver button with the anchor prompted

stories of the Second World War – fear as the Doodlebug hit their house, and laughter as granddad cheated at gin rummy.

There was the glass filigree button from a lace dance dress, handed down through three generations, now cut up as sideboard doilies.

Button after button told their tale.

They were simple times, yes, but what lovely memories.