No tribute to my mother would be honest or whole without mention of her penchant for shopping. She enjoyed clothes shopping in particular. She worked very hard having a full time job and raising a family; consequently, when she could, she enjoyed treating herself to various outfits. (Surely the austerity of the post-war years’ upbringing was influential on this part of her character.) There were outfits for every mood, every occasion, every season, every weather, every climate, every day of the week and every month of the year. What always delighted my father – and having moved house a few times, we all saw this – was the fact that my mother never parted easily with older outfits, even if they had not been worn for the best part of 30 years, because ‘well, you never know when they might come in useful again!’ Wardrobes, bags, suitcases, lofts throughout the county are evidence of an endearing trait that we all loved and had many laughs about. She always looked good: distinctive and attractive. When my mother turned her hand to golf, my father and I were pleased but rather self-satisfied that the sporting pecking order would not be troubled from the ladies’ tees. You see, where she had always pipped us academically, when it came to sport we had the upper hand! Or so we thought! Alas, on Saturday 25th November 1990 the rumour reached the clubhouse that Rosemarie Barber had ‘aced’ the 3rd hole. A hole in one! Unbelievable! We have never been able to emulate another of my mother’s fine achievements.