Spikey spent eight months in America. She flew all over the country speaking on the radio and at Womens’ Clubs; receiving hospitality from their officials, and coming back regularly to her flat in Washington. She talked about women in Britain, the war and conditions now the war was over, and they loved her. Being an ex-housewife she easily fitted two years’ work into that eight months. They tried hard to persuade her to stay longer but she was missing her grandchildren and, I expect, Professor Norris. Thoughtful as usual, she left money behind her there so that the parcels and magazines kept coming. Nothing like them was available yet in Britain even if one had coupons to spare.

Her professor was very pressing; she should divorce her husband and marry him. She thought long and hard about it, but came to the conclusion that, while she loved him, and while he was the man who had awakened her sexually and had introduced her to orgasms, they already had the best of their relationship. If she married him so that they were living together and not just sleeping together she could foresee that she might begin to object to the vast amount of whisky he drank and the amount of time he spent at the Savage Club, from which of course as a woman she was excluded. So she refused him and sent him back to his wife and daughters. But they remained good friends and occasional lovers.

Meanwhile the weather had decided to finish off what the war had started. Even in London we had deep snow. Everything froze, even the water pipes deep underground in the road. There was no fuel to be had unless Peter pushed Gale’s pram to the gas works at Greenwich to queue up for a bag of ovoids (reconstructed coal dust and cement) from the gas works. Luckily in Gale’s little bedroom there was a large gas fire. Someone had left a tap dripping in the bathroom directly above and a momentary thaw, soon over, lasted just long enough to bring water down through the ceiling. Gale was frightened and refused to sleep in the room, so we moved her cot into our big room next door and spent the winter in her little room heated, overheated by the gas fire, but cosy. For a while we had to melt snow to get water to make a cup of tea.

Peter painted a mural all over the long wall where she had picked off the wallpaper – an almond tree in full bloom, rabbits, primroses, a little road winding between the hills into the distance, while I made a patchwork quilt.

Eventually the bitter winter came to an end, and things returned to normal. We took Gale to the zoo. Most of it she loved, but while Peter was carrying her on his shoulders we went into the giraffe house. A particularly large giraffe bent its head down over the high railings of its cage until its very large head was level with her face, and breathed on her – a long, noisy,