Mrs Crace
Cliff McNish
In Memoriam: Robert Aickman
“When a garden flower is crushed it cannot simply be put back together; why do you never grasp such matters?”
Such was Father’s typically irritated response to a minor breakage by his own small, motherless children. Gilly and I learned to make a show of listening attentively whenever Father lectured us. He was very much a man to enlarge upon our innocent faults during this period.
“Can you repair the stem, mm? Will the tulip’s stamen miraculously return to life?”
“No, Father.” Our faces duly bowed.
This was during the worst of the austerity era following the war, 1946–47. Scarcity was a watchword everywhere, even in a well-to-do family such as ours with its own servants and grounds.
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