My mother was married on November 29th, 1952. I was born just over 40 weeks later. A honeymoon baby.

I think it was a difficult time for the whole family. My father was still a student – his education had been shatteringly disrupted by his forced exile to the Soviet Union and then by several years in the Middle East and Italy as an officer in Anders’ army – but finally he managed to enrol at London University to study economics. Not easy with a wife and a child to support. He was also helping his mother and my mother’s mother financially. I remember he told me that he had £25 a month which wasn’t really enough. He portered at Paddington station and did night shifts in various factories to make ends meet. We lived in Talgarth Road for a whole, then moved to Battersea where conditions were appalling. I believe we lived in a room shared with another couple, just divided by a large blanket. Not easy with a baby.

Then back to a basement in Talgarth Road. A horrible start to married life and motherhood, by any reckoning.

I remember quite a lot from my babyhood I think, possibly because of things I was told, but some things are definite memories. My very first memories are having my nappy changed and learning to walk. I was a very late developer!

But my best memories of my preschool years are when my parents used to dance in our living room. They’d put the radio on and if there was a waltz or a tango on they’d career around the room until it was time for my mother to stop for a cigarette. But they both loved dancing and sometimes I would squeeze in between their legs and try to dance with them.

Then hula hoops became fashionable. We had no space but somehow my father acquired three. One for each of us. Different sizes. My mother was particularly good at twirling it round her tiny waist. She could go on for ages. My father wasn’t bad and I was hopeless! Still am.

But they had fun at times. One occasion when they thought I would have fun – but I didn’t – was when they blew up lots of balloons. I have no idea why, but I can remember my father blowing and spluttering into the coloured rubber, whereas my mother just enlarged the spheres seemingly effortlessly. All was well until they started bursting. The noise was horrendous. To this day I am not keen on balloons!

But why am I writing these reminiscences today? I found these photos and the memories came flooding back. My parents got divorced soon after and Mother’s Day became more special.

I loved to celebrate it by giving my mother flowers. I didn’t get pocket money so I always had to ask someone for a couple of shillings Depending on what I received I could buy – in the flower shop in South Kensington Arcade- violets or anemones or my favourites: yellow fluffy mimosa. I haven’t seen these in the shops for years.

And then I finally had my own children. Mother’s Day with them has always been a day to really look forward to. Today was one of the best. Especially as it was my youngest daughter’s very first experience of it. Her son Luka is eight and a half months old and delightfullll.

Today, surrounded by his loving parents and grandparents and doting aunt and uncle, we had a delightful couple of hours together over lunch. I just love those moments of harmony and hope, when you can forget the horrors of the outside world.