I want to tell you a story about my mother, although of course it is also mine - inherited, along with dangly earlobes and a horror of deep water.
Tanya MoirOur house has its back to the sea,' writes Hester in her journal. 'Below us, the ocean spreads to the sky, twitching wide and blue and hungry. One would think it to be infinite. But we, of course, know better.
Tanya MoirTags: historical-fiction sea emigration new-zealand
We're all made to the same pattern. Knitted up like a thrifty housewife's sock from scraps - random unravelled bits of yarn that used to make someone else, chance combinations from the hand-me-down wardrobes of dead strangers.
But surely the execution must have an effect? After all, some knit better than others. I could never master it myself.
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