When my children were very small, I took them, (from our home in Norfolk), to stay with my son's godparents, at RAF Cranwell, where they were stationed. This would have been in about 1969.
While we were there, my hostess organised a shopping trip into Sleaford with some of her friends. One of these was the mother of a three year old girl, who was due to be brought back from playgroup at three in the afternoon. Our shopping trip overran a little, and we were a few minutes late back. On the friend's doorstep was an indignant three year old, saying, 'Mummy, where were you?'
The way in which she had said these words of admonishment stayed with me over the years, and often came back to me, when I was in danger of being late for my own children.
Fourteen years later, now a widow, I was living in High Wycombe, and my new partner, (now my second husband), took me to meet his son's prospective in laws, in Denham, Bucks., who were not over enthusiastic about the marriage, especially as their daughter was only seventeen.
As we sat making rather stilted conversation, I began to feel that I had met the girl's mother before somewhere.