We had managed with less – my brother and I – in time of war. What were the rites appropriate to this new situation, this sudden addition of an extra to our settled group? What were the uses of a father? I looked at the two of them together – my parents. Though there was nothing wrong with them, I thought there was something disproportionate in their conjunction, something lopsided. And, physically, they did make an awkward pair. My father was tall and thin, cutting a dash in his clothes but a clumsy mover in well-shined shoes surprisingly small for such a tall man. A tendency to talk too loud, a pedant in small matters, a cheerful conversationalist in the Officers’ Mess (joking and joshing with his fellows, those silly buggers from English public schools), an admirer of regimental tradition, a man’s man. My mother was short, nervous, given to headaches. Her slimness was fashionable and lent her a stylish air which she cultivated. I remember puffy sleeves on her light cotton dresses, nipped in at the waist, and necklines cut low in a broad V.
