MORNING SERIAL
AT first I was defiant, then he began to strike & maltreat me, divorced & threatened to denounce me.
I would have been put in ‘protective custody’, that was what they called it, so my pal Ingeborg helped us get out of Germany. I still dream of the official asking us for Dokumente.
You see now why I have kept all this from you, Isolde.
My hand is shaking as I write. I was young & headstrong in those days, you remind me of myself.
Tiring, Issie began to flounder, churning a furrow through the water.
She turned for home. Always she had been aware of Renate’s power to protect her, swimming the Gower.
Nobody else’s mother had such strength. She had taken her on her back as a tiny child, Issie’s thin arms lightly clasping her mother’s neck.
I’m sorry you should have such a filthy father but you did & it can’t be helped. When you were bad as a child I was disturbed because I feared to see him in you. I would correct & discipline you more than the Welsh children were corrected. Your cousins were brought up, according to my notion, in a sloppy way, whereas you were often smacked - you remember, no doubt - & no doubt you blame me for that too & think me a harsh unloving woman, which is why you adore Auntie Margiad & her eternal yakking, which drives me round the bend, though she means well.
The Welsh are a sentimental lot.
You and I were never at home, we had to be each other’s home. We were Category B ‘Enemy Aliens’ in the war. Interned on the Isle of Man. With one suitcase each, we were escorted to Cardiff under armed guard, with bayonets.
Imagine that - a woman & a child of 7. What did they think we were going to do, you and I? Mine Cardiff Docks?