Karin Judith, my Mum

I have been thinking about my mother today, as it is Mothering Sunday here in the U.K. If she were alive, my mother would be ninety-five this year. This photograph of her would have been taken in the late 1950s, around the time I was starting at primary school.
My mum was born in Bloomsbury, London and mostly brought up by a nanny. My grandparents were doctors in Harley Street and trained as psychoanalysts with Sigmund Freud. They hadn't figured out yet that it isn't a great idea to be separated from your parents most of the day and then be brought in to see your father ten minutes before bedtime.
Luckily my mum had a sister close in age and they managed to help each other survive. They got sent off to posh boarding schools and later my mum went to Cambridge University to study anthropology.
My mum was from a Quaker background and a real woman of principle. She was very fond of animals and taught me to tame a ferret among other things. Animals became very calm around her.
She was a hard working woman who raised four children and, once we went to school, was the warden of local Youth Centres not far from my childhood home in rural Essex. These were the days when Teds were going out, Mods and Rockers in the ascendant. Many of the local middle class worthies were strongly opposed to allowing the local "Greasers" (Bikers) access to the Youth Centre; they used to swear a fair bit, had tattoos and one or two had a reputation for getting into fights and the odd skirmish with the law. In my Mum's opinion, the whole point of having a youth service was that the Greasers should be as welcome as anyone else. She had a strong sense of social justice.
My Mum died in 1972, suddenly and unexpectedly. We organised her funeral ourselves but we also had a Memorial Service in the village. It was completely packed out and I have never seen so many bikers in church.