Six weeks later the family flew to England in a Lancaster bomber, with the still tiny Robin in an orange box. My father went into teaching instead of Shell. I was the fourth son, born six years later. At primary school the teacher was going round the class asking where all the children were born. The teacher smacked him for blasphemy and cheek.
Every family is interesting, and everybody has a story to tell.
Whether fictitious or true, the story is part of the person who is telling it, a bond between the teller and the listener. This is how music came. It achieves this by making you feel good. As I get older, I find that I am less and less interested in improvising and composing, and more and more interested in arrangement and respectful imitation of people like these.