Naturally, when I was a child Eva Knights enjoyed a godlike status. Inevitably, as I entered by teens and aggressively rebelled against her authority, our relationship deteriorated. We were estranged for many years. Decades later I made an effort to track Eva down and introduced her to my two eldest children. We talked a great deal about the old days and the fates of my contemporaries; M was a drug addict, N had lost a leg, O had drunk himself to death, P had fallen into prostitution, R had been mentally institutionalised for a number of years, S was now a thief and a liar - and on and on. Listening to to these tales I’d often let out a soft “fuck me” and as always, Eva would ask me to mind my swearing and remark that I was bright enough to "Come up with other words".

Every time I saw Eva (she was elderly and would often repeat herself or forget things), she would always mention, bitterly, a certain member of staff whom she regarded as an immoral, predatory pig. This man’s actions within the home had cast a shadow over the ending of Eva’s career and I’m pretty sure led to her taking early retirement. Eva’s deep contempt for this man remained undiminished. Eva would air her suspicions that this man had done bad things to the children and always asked me if I’d had to deal with anything. I was of the opinion that a) it was a little late to be asking me, and b) I couldn’t see what any discussion of this aspect of our shared past would achieve. Would it make me or anyone else who’d had their trust betrayed by this man feel any better? Would it change the past? Would it have any effect on the present? The answer to all of the above (as far as I was concerned) was  No and I'd always change or avoid the subject. Eva and I would say our goodbyes and the unspoken, unresolved ambiguities and tensions of our relationship would remain in place. When I  walked away from her apartment and waved goodbye from the street I always felt an uncomfortable mixture of sentimentality, nostalgia, affection and simmering anger; and Eva knew me well enough to know exactly what was going on inside my mind.  

Armed with my physical address, Eva began to write to me and send gifts for my children. A part of me was glad to receive the gifts; another part wanted nothing to do with them. I’d read and re-read Eva’s letters, which were kind, generous, and complimentary of my wife and my children. Holding these letters within my hands I was, frankly, amazedthat after all the long, long years of fighting and non-communication between us we were now communicating in such a cordial manner. I was deeply conflicted by these letters  and always had to fight the urge to tear them up and throw them away. An old dashed respect for letter writing, a sense that the letters were not my sole property, since they spoke of my children and were often accompanied by gifts for my children, prevented me from throwing them into the bin.  

A while back Eva sent me a letter enquiring about Emma’s size so that she might buy her a correct fitting jumper. Eva died shortly after sending the letter. Even though we were separated by a great distance (Eva lived in England and I was living in Sweden at the time) I could feel that she had passed away. I’m glad I have all of her letters in my possession as I continue to experience my own limitations and mistakes as a father. 

I understand just what a gift she was to the many children who came under her supervision. Some of the professionals within Eva’s employ did not meet her own high standards but she was, like the rest of us, a human being and fallible. I’m glad to have known her.