My mother is my hero.

Strong, beautiful, kind, patient, intelligent. A spiritual giant.

Our relationship has always been good – better than most, I think.

It just never occurred to me that that might not be  the norm, so I just carried it on to the next generation.

(Luckily, Celine was okay with that.)


Three generations – 2016


I was browsing through my childhood scrapbook, and rediscovered the poems my mother has written and sent me over the years.

After she was diagnosed with heart failure in 1999, she started writing poetry.

Some of those poems were for me.

She has written two for my birthday – one in 1999, and another one in 2010.

She has allowed me to share them here.


For Joanna

Dearest heart

My first-born in the wilderness

Yes- the wilderness of my confusion

And utterly unknowing youth

(All too knowing of some things)

Oh how grateful is this heart of mine

That you did come to me

Daring to bear with me

Willing to share with me

Your perfect knowledge

Of a perfect Love

Coming as you did

From a far-off heaven’s home

That much I knew

In those months of waiting


And then that special day

In far-off climes

You came to be

A very special entity

And un-returnable gift to me

From Father

That I might learn to love more perfectly

How blessed is my life

Because of thee

My dearest Heart…


Switzerland, 1982


For Joanna

You, my very first-born

In the desert of my disarray

Came to me with a perfect knowledge

Of divine and perfect love

Providing an oasis of living waters

Forbidden to speak lest you say too much

Delivered as you were from spheres above

The veil was still too thin too delicate as yet

Not drawn across your mind

Your entrance on my stage gave me

A bright conviction of your pre-existence

In the wings before your glowing presence

As my enchanting babe-in-arms

You did not come with selfishness

As some suppose in ignorance

Rather as a guide to self-less-ness

Leading and directing Light-ward:

There was so much for us to learn.


You came from God’s perfection

Born into my imperfect world

And over the years we have learned

And grown together in some certainties:

You still hold the key to the knowledge

Which was yours at birth.

You know.


London, 1969


Is there any wonder I adore this woman? She has always seen divinity in me, and if she could see it, who was I to doubt?


London, 1968


Thank you, Mummy, for being the very , very best example of motherhood anyone could ever wish for.