One of the first impulses of retirement was to reflect back on all that had gone before. It was a novelty, a luxury which had always been elbowed aside by a pre-occupation with the present and future. Life had been such a whirl that there was barely time to make sense of it all. For a while I wallowed in nostalgia and assembled and organised all the artefacts of my existence which were strewn in the loft and in the corners of cupboards throughout the house. I found things I had long since forgotten. Each rediscovery triggered the memory chords and illuminated past events and the thoughts and emotions that went with them.

I found that the more I pondered them the more the memories unravelled. I was fascinated. As the jigsaw of my experiences came together I began to see connections that had never occurred to me before. I began to gain insights into those life-changing encounters that made me what I am and to appreciate the origins of the values and attitudes which have anchored my life.

It was all sufficiently absorbing to tempt me to take up the pen. Somehow I felt it might give me a clearer understanding of who I am and what it has all been about.