Have a Good NEWS

Gaby Koppel grew distant from her domineering, hard-drinking mother. But 10 years after her death, she can appreciate her incredible strengths as a parent

en pointe

Yet the first five years of their marriage seems to have been a time of radiant happiness. Edith taught herself to cook and sew, running up a wardrobe full of dramatic New Look dresses. My father rose to chief engineer in the increasingly successful family business; Aero Zipp Fasteners now had a substantial share of the UK market. The couple socialised in a tight-knit group of young family and friends, mainly émigrés like themselves. And if the cultural life of the Welsh capital felt threadbare in those days, then they'd drive to London, see a play and have dinner. It seemed for a moment as if Edith had defied her past and remade her future. But when my brother and I arrived in 1955 and 1957, her demons returned, as if bringing us up reminded her of things she'd long since buried. From then on, the drink took hold, and stability disappeared through the door.

I'd come home from school to find her asleep in bed, reeking of booze. Often I'd finish cooking for guests because she was no longer capable. At nights, when my father was out at the bridge club, she would phone friends, relations, even business colleagues of my father for rambling, alcohol-fuelled conversations. Social situations were obstacle courses we had to struggle over, never knowing whether she would be fabulous fun or fall over drunk.

But that's not what people remember. After she died, the verdict of old friends was surprisingly unanimous, "Ach, you know, she meant well," they said, forgetting they'd indulged themselves at her table and enjoyed her company. Faint praise seemed to airbrush away her huge range of talents and skills. "She meant well" was a way of saying that the drunken, domineering Edith always proved more memorable than the talented, clever one or the witty raconteur.