Liselotte Amelie Mansfield 1929-2009

My mother died last night. And I have a lot of work to do in deciphering what that means for me - none of which I intend to share here.

But it did make me think about what we take with us when we go. All that unrecorded history.

My mother had a lot to say, and never said it.

We know a little of it: her memories of seeing Hermann Göring drive by in his open-top Mercedes; of the Gestapo turning up at her doorstep demanding to know why she wasn't in the Hitler birthday parade; of the bombing of Hamburg.

And there were painful memories of the early years living in a London suburb, babe in arms, her British husband posted back to Germany, surrounded by hostile people with fresh memories of the Blitz.

Yet there must have been so much more, now gone forever.

The picture shows my father, John (19231925-1991*), mother and my eldest brother Harry (thankfully still with us). I think it must have been taken in 1947 in Hamburg.

  * UPDATE: My father's year of birth has been somewhat clouded in mystery - see 'Lying about one's age'.