Reading Polly Hudson’s account of clearing her mother’s house (My mum has died – and every decision I make about her belongings feels wrong, 20 September) made me think about my experience of doing the same. I sort of enjoyed the task, viewing it as the last thing that I could do for my mother, and seeing myself as a curator in reverse.
I was determined to recycle as much as possible, feeding the good things through to charity shops and going back later to see what had and hadn’t sold. When one charity shop in the Welsh border town where my mother lived didn’t want her manual typewriter, on the grounds that nobody would have use for it, I took it to a charity shop in London, which snapped it up and put it in the window.
