Father ranted on, waving the newspaper around in disbelief. ‘More rights?! Why should they get more rights? Who says they deserve ’em? I tell you, this country will fall to pieces soon enough if this happens.’

His violent bluster afforded me the opportunity to swiftly and discreetly scoop a lamb chop off my plate and into the napkin on my lap. I folded it up and placed it in the pocket of my dress, praying that no juice from the meat would seep through.

Mother let father continue until all the steam had evaporated. I finished my plate and asked to be excused. There would be calm until the evening news came on the radio in half an hour and his temper would fray once more.

I went outside and ran through the garden to the small hut at the end of the lane, surrounded by overgrown grass and wild…