My mother had a friend, a Mrs Green, who lived, somewhere along Guildford Avenue; she was a very thin lady, not very tall and had two children. She often came to our house and they, my mother and she, would talk and laugh or play games like 'Ludo'.
Her face, I noticed, always seemed to be bruised and, my mother told me many years later, that her husband, a tall and very burly policeman, beat her; this I couldn't believe but it explained those bruises. How any man could do that to a woman, I never will understand.
This was made even less understandable to me, when I watched him, Mr Green, this giant of a man, far bigger than my father and with huge hands, make silk table runners as a hobby and which he would sell to other people.
He showed me the frame he had made, on which he created the runners - and how to finish them; I've never forgotten what it looked like and have always promised myself that, one day, I'll make one but I've never seemed to have the time - story of my life!.