This is a drawer into which my grandmother and mother have thrown things they didn't want to look at again but couldn't bear to part with.
All the letters of condolence my grandmother received on the death of my grandfather in 1939.
Several newspaper supplements relating to the death and burying of Winston Churchill- who was something of a family hero (but not to me. Stamp, pout!)
Letters home from two generations of kids who had been banged up in boarding schools- one of whom was myself. I remember having to write the damn things- arduously trying to be grown-up and entertaining and duly grateful for small benefits received, scraping round for news when there isn't really any (I'm at school and wish I wasn't) and avoiding any expression of real feeling. Looking through them is dispiriting. My mother's letters home are even duller than mine, my sister's a little livelier.
These things have hung around for long enough; I won't be passing them on to the next generation.
But I will be passing on the photographs of my great great great grandparents...