Note: this is a true story, although I’ve changed the names. It was originally experienced and written in September 2012. The baby I wrote about in last week’s memoir entry was born, safe and well, on January 7th 1965 – Andrew Walter Tudway. So instead of...
I regretted in retrospect that Roger and I did not see my family that Christmas; of course we did not know it would be the last for both my parents. Because my mother was still in hospital in London, my father went to stay with Auntie Mary. She was his cousin and only...
My first husband, Roger Tudway, didn’t get on well with my father, who was worried – rightly – about his drinking, but Roger adored my mother. He had been instrumental in having her to stay with us when we were doing our house officer year in Hereford so that we could...
