Min Maj turns 100

I grew up without any grandparents, at least none alive or related by blood. But one of my father’s colleagues from work – a wrinkly old woman with a wobbly walk, called Maj – was retiring and had time on her hands. One morning at breakfast, he asked her if she could possibly look after his two children. She smiled and said yes. She became min Maj (my Maj). When I drew family trees in class, I included her at the top. When I was tasked with interviewing an elderly person about the Second World War, she gladly agreed. She had the most fascinating stories to tell. She had lived through the Second World War, as well as the reigns and passings of monarchs and world leaders. She showed me a box of old newspaper clippings and ration cards from the war years. Each family was only allowed so much flour, so much sugar, and so on. She spoke of the past with lessons never to be forgotten. She is also very funny. She smokes like a chimney, drinks at least two glasses of whisky (one for each leg,…

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