Monday
Dame Maggie Smith has gone to the great green room in the sky. My dad worked at the National Theatre back in the days when its canteen was run by two women called Rose and Nellie. Rose was zaftig, ebullient and did most of the serving, accompanied by much loud commentary and happy chat. Nellie, skinny and careworn, was rarely heard from. She spent most of her time scurrying about in the background with pots and pans, or bent almost double over the sinkfuls of washing up that accrued during the turning out of 50 or more hot lunches courtesy of two battered domestic stoves.
