Today is the tenth anniversary of my father’s death. This photo was taken in 1982. He was a sprightly 63. Kasia was one and a bit.

I am showing you this photo because it brings back so many memories.

We were living in the flat above my godfather’s accountancy office which he rented out to us at a fairly favourable rate. Just as well, as I wasn’t working very much and all the spare money we had was going on building 22 Grove Road, the derelict property we had recently bought! (£5 deposit. Have I told the story here?)

Anyway.

This not very clear photo shows some of the things we no longer have but which hold a significant place in my heart.

The plant stand in the background was one of the first things my husband made when we moved in. I used to have lots of plants which satisfied my nurturing instincts before I had a garden. The plant stand was wonderful as I could have lots of pots very compactly.

Then to the back left of the picture is a bookshelf which travelled with me from Egerton Court to Sheffield to Gordon Road and finally to South Ealing Road. I think we finally gave it away when we moved to Grove Road.

In Egerton Court it used to be our telephone table. It stood near the front door of our flat, at one end of our very long corridor and it held, on the top shelf, our trim-phone – Knightsbridge 2009, a vast crystal ashtray, the London Telephone Directory – four heavy volumes – and a notepad for messages.

The shelves below were another story. They contained my stepfather’s books – and I think he must have forgotten about them because none of them were suitable reading for a convent educated teenager. Here I found some life changing books which I’d read sitting on the floor while waiting for the phone to ring. The Second Sex by Simone de Beauvoir was probably the most significant and indeed influential. Of course I could never admit to him or anyone else that I read it at the age of 12 or thirteen. Even with my friends at school I did not discuss it, as it was so outrageous at the time. We are talking about the early 1960s.

What I did find though was Lady Chatterley’s Lover. here I quickly found the controversial pages and spent a considerable amount of time reading from the text, over the phone, to my friends. Oh how we laughed at all those rude words! Innocent times. There were worse books – Diary of a Flea was one, but that was truly disgusting. Yet a few years ago Jacek and I saw a fantastic play based on it. So maybe I was really just too young.

But no one at home censored my reading, and for that I am really grateful. How do you know what you like or what is good and well written if you don’t have access to a wide range? Of course the nuns at school had a different take on this, but we too came to an amicable arrangement.

All this meandering because of a glimpse of a bookcase on the background.

RIP Tatus. You would have been 106 now.