IN JUNE 1988, my mother became younger than my youngest child. It was night-time when the phone call came. I was in the middle of the dinner chaos and children’s homework mixed with the usual evening competition over television programs. The voice on the line said that Mum had been run over in the street. It was serious.

On the way to the hospital I cracked the usual jokes about Mum and her resilience. “I hope the car’s all right,” I said to the children. “Grandma’s never liked cars and she could do some real damage.”