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Blue Lady Reading

 Blue Lady Reading finally emerged from the kiln. Much bluer than I expected, and with a strange blue sock where I dipped her like Thetis in the Styx, and she duly came out of the glaze like Achilles with a duff heel. She’s engrossed in her book and unaware of the world around her. She was not supposed to be such a blue lady, but this is a steep new learning curve.

Meanwhile I’ve been engrossed in women at war. A Woman in Berlin, an amazingly frank, humorous, thoughtful and perceptive diary account of the days when the Russians took Berlin in 1945, and the German women were fair game for the invaders. When first published in 1954 the Germans were horrified that the anonymous diarist should dare to insinuate that nearly all women remaining in Berlin were raped, while the few men left in the city stood by and did nothing. And before that Testament of Youth, which somehow I had missed, with its desperately sad tale of loss, but again wrapped in humour and a brave, resilient woman. And meanwhile, every day I’m working away on the diaries of a deb in Dresden in the 1930s. Party time! Skating! Dancing! German grammar! Skiing! Flirting! All unawares, while the clouds of Nazi rule draw near…

Anyhow, a friend admired my Blue Lady Reading, so she has gone off to her new home, carefully packed up in bubble wrap.

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