Fifty years on, and I’m not just still reporting ladies’ luncheons clubs, I’m talking to them. A recent invitation reminded me that, half a century later, I’m back to where I started.
When I was a very small girl – four or five – I used to go visiting. On my own. To houses round about, and to old ladies, mainly (who were probably about 50). I spent ages just chatting to them, and one in particular used to let me listen to the sound of the sea in an enormous conche shell which she kept in her china cabinet. She told me her fiance had brought it for her from a distant land: he’d died in the trenches in the First World War. She had never loved anyone else, had never married, but whenever she held that shell she thought of him. It was, she said, her most treasured possession. And I was allowed to hold it, and listen to the magical sound of the sea. Continue reading “Back to the future”