If you’ve read my blog post about Bart Van Es’s biography The Cut Out Girl, you’ll know that during World War Two, The Netherlands (Nazi-occupied at the time) was so efficient at rounding up its Jewish population, that the death rate was the highest in Europe, higher even than in Germany. I highly recommend Van … More The Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank
About five years ago while sorting through a stack of old, official paperwork, I found a piece of paper on which my dad had written his mother’s maiden name: Agnes Hughes. That doesn’t sound so strange, until you realise that Dad was an orphan. He’d been raised in various Barnardo’s homes from the age of … More Regarding Agnes….I did it!
Hubby’s friend, Steve, was one of the few people I’ve met who could rightly be described as a ‘character’. He did things his own way and seemed to command attention wherever he went. Take the time Hubby and Steve went skiing. Steve arrived in jeans, a raincoat from the Army and Navy Stores, and fingerless … More Travels with Maurice: An Outrageous Adventure in Europe, 1968 by Gary Orleck
My father was a Barnardo’s boy. In 1926, aged seven, he was put into the Liverpool Home for Destitute Children and Orphans because his war-widow mother, Agnes, was too poor to keep him. I’d grown up knowing he was brought up in an “orphanage” but took it as read that both his parents were dead. … More Twopence to Cross the Mersey by Helen Forrester
Biographies are like busses, you wait for one for ages then three come along at once… My Uncle Bobbie died earlier this year just under two weeks before his 96th birthday. It seems strange to refer to the death of a nonagenarian as a shock, but it was, because he wasn’t ill. On the morning … More Somewhere Towards The End by Diana Athill
One of my best friends at school was Jenny. Jenny was dotty about animals. Now it’s fair to say I was brought up in an animal-friendly household. We always had pets: mainly cats or, if dad got his way, a dog. For a short time we had goldfish and at one point my sister had … More H is for Hawk by Helen Macdonald
“When my mother was angry with me, which was often, she said, ‘The Devil led us to the wrong crib.’” This is how the memoir begins. Entirely fitting, giving over the opening line to “Mrs Winterson” (as she’s more frequently referred to, not mother) because the over-riding influence on JW’s life would seem to be … More Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal? by Jeanette Winterson
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