Her mother was 11 years younger than her father. So whilst he was flying spitfires, she was attempting an education.

Her mother’s father had been conscripted and was stationed in Africa. In the north of Africa. The few pictures of him at that time showed him to have the kind of dirty ingrained tan achieved only through years in the sun. However unwanted that sun was. He was an artist. He made them the most beautiful things whilst there — a box to contain their Christmas presents, covered with winding leaves and flowers, and much else beside. And he wrote…

Clare Nash

Mother, designer, sometime writer. Less than meets the eye. Raging against the machine.

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