In this book I continue the story of my late mother’s life, tying up some loose ends and filling in inadvertent gaps in the narrative. Memories are fickle and evanescent, often no more substantial than last night’s dream. They cannot be summoned up at will to reveal themselves and often require a period of incubation before to begin to coalesce. As was the case in The Girl From Copenhagen, I have in this sequel used pictures in my mother’s photo albums to rekindle half-forgotten memories. I was surprised when I wrote this book by how many significant events in my mother’s life that I had failed to record. But such is the nature of memory.