Once she had been breathtakingly beautiful, now the years have done their damage and here I have painted her, old and not a pretty picture and more symbolically than anything real, but remembering what had happened back then. The battering by two Red Army soldiers on her skull when she was nine months pregnant with me, as they ''liberated us'', so she protected her tummy rather than her head, left a tumour, much later found to be benign, pressed under her skull, causing endless severe headaches, and with a doctor /the nightmare of my family, gave my name to Human Research after making weird remarks to me/ who decided she was a hypochondriac. Many years later, after she was widowed we managed to get her to live in our city where she had a Swedish doctor, who -glory be- managed to diagnose it. I have to tell you Scunthorpe's doctor Leech was one of those, whatever you went to the surgery with, he was concerned whether you were having orgasms! I think maybe he wasn't as he was five foot circumference and a bright red sports car, but as foreigners, they always put us onto the worst doctors' panel there was. She retained her spirit, bless her, to the end.