by Pamela Whitby | Jan 13, 2017 | Memoir
The day my father died, three months ago yesterday, I was at my mother’s house helping her to move out of our family home. It was nearing the end of the two weeks I’d spent with her laughing and crying through the packing up of 40 years of tat, trinkets and family...
by Pamela Whitby | Jan 14, 2016 | Stories
“Darling, why not phone them now and say we will ring them when we get to Nairobi. Tell them Mummy wants to take them to Carnivore tomorrow night.” Carnivore, this slightly overweight, posh Brit tells her public school looking teenagers, is a restaurant. As I’m...
by Pamela Whitby | Nov 13, 2015 | Stories
Keep Calm Pamela. This is the message on the key ring given to me last Saturday morning by my friend, the mother of my daughter’s friend of nearly 15 years. The best friend is organising a surprise birthday party and I’m dropping my son off at hers so that we can...
by Pamela Whitby | Sep 6, 2014 | Stories
My interview yesterday morning, which revolved around the state of education in South Africa, started with a greeting in a language I did not understand. At least I think it was a greeting. Maybe he thought that as a South African born journalist living in London, who...
by Pamela Whitby | Jun 13, 2014 | Stories
“Art is art. That’s how it is in our household. No way would any of us ever download free music or films. Absolutely no way!” It was an emphatic response to the question I’d put to the crowd at coffee last Friday: “How would you feel if your children were downloading...
