My Mother’s Mother
Moniza Alvi
How delighted she was that the War ended on her birthday. The 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month. She was fifteen and in service, a parlour maid in a big house behind Barkers in Kensington. Never again. Again and again. We don’t die, but perhaps we die a little. My kind grandmother, Lydia, motherless and learning how to lay the table properly. How special she felt that the War ended on her birthday.