A few days after her eighty-sixth birthday, Gillian Beer decided to write a few fragments about her childhood in England just before and during World War II. As is her custom, she applies her precise and inquisitive nature to recall that time with the fullness of sensory memory, rather than as history as an abstract. ‘Uneasy memories stay folded. Some unfold like a sad story listened to, which implants experience never received directly’. Beer’s writing takes us from her early life, almost to the present day when she discovers previously unknown close relatives that cast light into the time and tides of her remarkable life and career.