My mother, Gladys, on a motorbike in the 1930s. The pencilled caption on the back says it's my mother, and the photograph was taken in Lancaster. The album it comes from is one of my mothers. It looks like my mother. My software's facial recognition confirms it is my mother. But my mother, astride a powerful motorbike, young, without the cares of family: it is all so difficult to take in.
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