The Death of Andrew
It seems appropriate to make another jump in time in my memoirs and share this one in Holy Week. At this time of fear and loss, it may even help some others to learn about the loss of my first—and at the time only—child, but know that one can survive and come through...
Growing Up: Stanhope Road, Croydon
Those were the days when there were still two postal deliveries a day; my parents complaining about their reduction from three. Bread was delivered twice daily too, in the baker’s own blue van. Milk came in a horse-drawn cart, which we looked out for in school...
Homegoing
We went back to Croydon, our home, the place where I was born, sometime before the end of the war. I think it must have been in late 1943 or 44. I remember everything about the house feeling strange and yet familiar – I had no real memories, only a sense of...
More About My Parents
I always knew my parents loved me, my mother, in particular. That is the most vital ingredient for the healthy growth of a child: to know that your parents, or at least someone, loves you no matter what. My mother felt compelled to offer herself as a GP in place of a...