I have just learned of a touching act of generosity by the headmaster of a school I attended long ago. For logistical reasons, and possibly also for cultural ones, it would be neither possible nor needed today. In July 1967, I completed my second
Memoir
September 11 and the Hazards of Writing About a Friend
1 A recent experience has caused me to consider yet again the difficulties inherent in writing about someone else, above all a friend. An essay I worked on for two weeks caused such distress to a good friend that I abandoned the project before
Soundtrack
Think of a song, and chances are you’ll think of a moment or a someone. Think of another song, and you’ll probably think of another moment, another someone. A piece of music might pop up when you call to mind a parent, a child, a friend, a certain
Dad: My Memorial Speech for Harold Anthony Spratt
1 I want to begin by giving you an idea of where Dad came from. Last July, armed with information a genealogy expert friend had uncovered, we visited a church in Hutton Rudby, a village in rural northern Yorkshire. Dad’s mother had been baptized
The Last Goodbye
In my childhood, there were several occasions when Dad and I had to say goodbye. Two that were especially painful occurred during my four months of hospitalization when I was thirteen. The evening after I’d had a long operation, Dad was compelled
In My Beginning
Last Saturday, here in Brooklyn, the wind brought a freshness to an afternoon that otherwise would have been too hot. I felt a vague sense of some yet earlier afternoon, a memory I couldn’t quite place, then or now. It is hidden behind the veils of