Seven Point Eight The First Chronicle - By Marie A. Harbon Page 0,34

contact Dr Henry Jones as he works with this girl’s father, who’s a professor and teaches at the university. She resides in Tehran, although her mother is an English woman. It won’t be difficult to find her.”

Max took hold of Grace’s hand and they sat together in silence, waiting for the inevitable.

The Institute held the sombre event that was Grace’s funeral four days later. The communal living area hosted the wake, with vases of flowers on the sideboard and wreaths communicating the sense of loss everyone felt. Max sat quietly in her favourite armchair, absorbing the essence of her that seemed to dominate the air, and when Paul saw him, he made his approach.

“I’m sorry,” he gave his condolences. “She was a fine and very talented lady.”

Max turned to look at him, with a sadness Paul rarely saw.

“Not as sorry as I am, she was my mother.”

He rose from the chair and stood alone, gazing out of the window, conveying his unwillingness to converse further. To Paul, this was a genuine revelation and he withdrew, unsure what to say or do, so he picked up the newspaper. The front page news detailed the death of Marilyn Monroe, found dead in her bed, with the phone in her hand.

“Right again, dear Grace, right again.”

He sighed and joined the residents in their time of mourning.

Would anything be the same without Grace?

7

Persian Princess

Putting pen to paper is most unlike me, I’m not a writer yet I feel I must tell someone my story. It’s an incredible tale relating the story of where I came from, and what I experienced in my surreal life. In many ways, I’m a traveller, as I’ve been to places that no one could ever dream of or comprehend.

I was born in London on the 7th of November, 1944. The time was ten minutes to eleven in the morning, Greenwich Mean Time, and the country was still at war. My father, Mohammed, is Persian, although now he’d be regarded as Iranian, as that’s what the country is called now. He has a large family, three sisters and three brothers who still live in Iran, although one brother lives in Saudi Arabia today. I believe that originally, my paternal line drifted to Persia from Turkey sometime in the 19th century.

My mother is a beautiful English woman called Elizabeth, although she knows very little of her bloodline. Therefore, I’m an amalgamation of European, Persian, Egyptian, and Turkish blood. I have my mother’s features and long, dark hair, with a tint of the Middle East in my complexion. However, I have a fire that burns in my heart that is unlike either of my parents.

Mohammed came to London aged eighteen to study at university and build a life for himself over here, believing that he could provide a better future for a family in a place that produced more wealth than Persia. He gained a degree in history and took up teaching as a profession, remaining in London.

Elizabeth moved there aged eighteen to study history in 1938, just before the war. My father lectured at her university, and she became one of his student role models. He fell in love with her because of her beauty and intelligence, and saw her as a perfect wife and mother. However, he couldn’t violate the teacher – student ethos, and he wanted her to give up her studies for marriage, but she held out until she’d finished her degree. I respect her for that.

They married in 1942, but angered her parents in doing so because she’d chosen a Persian man as her husband. They thought people from the Middle East were barbarians. Racism was pretty acceptable in those days, however.

Worse still, her parents refused to leave her money in their will, but the silence truly hurt her the most. They never spoke to her after the wedding, or even during it. How can you ignore your own daughter, just because she chose to marry somebody who didn’t have white skin? I think her sister, Hannah, tried to keep contact but her brother, Donald’s treatment of her was quite disgusting though. He always referred to my father as ‘that sand nigger’, a term I heard too much of during my childhood.

Anyway, my father continued to teach and mother stayed at home. I think the fusion of two religions has been quite a challenge, although maybe Islam provided the stronger influence, due to father being the head of the household and in those days, men were responsible