ABSTRACT

I first met Nina in the early 1950s. Her younger sister, Gill, was training to be a teacher and became friends with my sister, Angela. Long before I married Gill, I visited her and Nina at their home in Cornwall in order to fetch Angela, who had been holidaying with them. My dog, Tom, was not popular with their wirehaired terrier, and I myself was not particularly popular, as I omitted to bring my ration book. I remember thoroughly enjoying a series of word games, at which Nina naturally excelled. This in a way epitomized my rather jokey relationship with Nina, which reached a high point in the punning postcard I sent—and the post office successfully delivered—to her Hampstead address at 1A, Well Road: