Her Voice

Wanting to bring Ouma’s voice to her memorial – to bring her memory alive, somehow, and feel the comfort of her presence – I read out extracts from her letters over the many years during which we corresponded. 27/04/1999 Harfield Village Dearest Laurel, As the winter approaches, I’m becoming a ‘kitchen dweller’ – the sun … More Her Voice


Broken shards of glass spread across the kitchen floor – jagged edges glistening, and tiny slivers hiding in shadows, evading my later attempts to make the tiles safe once more for tender feet (how quickly we imbue our human qualities of spite and craftiness into objects inanimate). The sound crashes into my consciousness before I … More Shattered

Captured Conversations

I stumbled across this Skype conversation with my mother from quite a number of years ago, which I had emailed to myself to keep safe, and subsequently forgotten I still had (though I remembered the conversation itself well). I grasp at all these memories, wanting to remember her voice, her smell, and her writing, and … More Captured Conversations

My mother’s voice (written Wednesday 06/07/2011)

I was re-reading some of my old email conversations with my mother, wanting to feel really connected again, wanting to weep again. And weep I did. Here are some extracts from a few exchanges that capture something of her voice, our relationship, her relationship with her mother (and to her mother’s death), and other important … More My mother’s voice (written Wednesday 06/07/2011)