She claimed she was great granddaughter of Lady Jane Stanton, who lived in Trentham Gardens near Stoke, and because of this she was of course an aristocrat. I never understood where these stories came from (or, if the people were real or fictitious ones that she conjured up in her mind) but they were repeated thousand times.
I remember smiling politely thinking she is a bit mad everytime she told me, as a devote catholic she actually met the Pope in Rome after taking her mother on a pilgrimage trip to Italy. This turned out to be their last trip together, as her mother soon after died of cancer. I always took these stories with a pinch of salt, some more bonkers than the other. But then one day, out of nowhere, she showed me a framed picture of her with the Pope. Well that told me!
That made me think maybe she isn't as mad as she appeared, she certainly knew how to play the piano for example. Still I never got to the bottom of what was real, what was stories in her head, and it really doesn't matter. I am just glad she had someone she could tell these stories to, with that rather strange child's voice of hers, as they seemed very real and important to her.
Now dementia's taken hold of her and she lives in a residential home. She doesn't know who I am anymore