Maude Morris

When I knew Maude Morris she was an old lady living in sheltered housing near my school. I visited her every Wednesday lunchtime for several years. It was never a chore and she never made me feel guilty if I missed a week. One summer's day I was her wheelchair pusher on a pensioners' outing to the seaside. I still remember the way my heart leapt when I carelessly let go of the wheelchair at the top of a steep slope. I grabbed it again before she rolled more than an inch so it was ok.

Maude was twice widowed. She missed the man she had married in middle age. There had been someone before, the father of her children. He was one of the prisoners involved in the building of the real bridge on the River Kwai. Afterwards he spent several years in a sanitorium and then died.

I used to try and get her to talk about it but it was too painful for her. In my clumsy teenage way I didn't really understand that.