The evocative details of growing up in wartime - the lipstick and petticoats and kiss-curls, the bus-rides to Woolworth's to pinch pictures of Deanna Durbin, the glories of the public library, the joys of roller-skating . . . all these are splendidly recalled by Mavis Nicholson.
Born in 1930 in South Wales, Mavis Nicholson spent her childhood in a terraced house (no indoor loo) with her parents and grandparents, sharing a bed for many years, to her chagrin, with her grandmother in order to compel her grandfather, who drank and was not highly regarded by his wife, to sleep in a separate room. Mavis Nicholson appears to have something close to total recall, and even as a child possessed pretty acute psychological insight . . . a memoir written with understanding and compassion.
