The fascination of old photos, especially those that predate oneself, is the story they tell. Or don’t. For example, this family photo of what appears to be a family birthday celebration.
Surrounding my grandfather, the apparent “birthday boy”, are, starting at the top right: my mother, my father, my Aunt Esther (I think…), my grandmother, my brother, grandpa, and — the first born in my family — my sister.
I think this predates my second sister, so may be a photo taken in 1942 or 1943. No one seems that happy, perhaps a reflection of the family attitude toward having one’s photo taken.
Or perhaps the lack of smiles reflects the times, a wartime celebration where the cares of the day out-trumped any effort to have a good time. They were uncertain times, and a victory was the prayer, not an inevitability.
I find that photo so depressing, I include this photo of my brother taken around the same time. It makes me smile!