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Written by Hannah Scott and Stefano Della Casa
Produced and mixed by Stefano Della Casa

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My parents met when my mum was 19 and my dad 32. My mum was studying at Oxford while my dad, though intelligent, had left school at 16 to pursue a creative career as a Butlin’s Redcoat and stand-up comic, then Entertainments Director for P&O.

My grandmother, my mum’s mother, liked my dad at first but when it became clear their relationship was serious, she made it clear she wanted my mum to settle down with a different kind of person - a doctor, lawyer, banker-type.

When my parents decided to get married 4 years later, my grandmother told my mum she would never speak to her again if she married my dad. She stayed true to her word for 20 years.

When I was born, my parents thought she might like to know she had a granddaughter and wrote to tell her. Her response came back: “I do not believe this is a matter for congratulation.”

They met again for the first time when I went to visit Oxford University myself at the age of 16.

Can words ever express how much she has missed out on? She has missed watching three granddaughters grow up because she was too stubborn to pick up the phone, too proud to apologise. To this day she still hasn’t said sorry. I often wonder if she regrets it. I’m sure she wouldn’t admit it if she did.

As Kahlil Gibran says, “Your children are not your children.” It was not her choice to make.

She’s the child that you betrayed
When you denied the choice she made
She refused to yield, you tried to shut it down
You refused to feel, you chose to cut her out

How your words held their shape
Held in time and held in place
By your fear of losing face
Now you’re twenty years too late

Make a child, you make a mind
Its own desires, its own designs
How you let them grow is how you gain the most
How you let them go is how you keep them close

How your words held their shape
Held in time and held in place
By your fear of losing face
Now you’re twenty years too late

For the hurt, for your hate, you have still not said you’re sorry
To the child you betrayed; it was not your choice to make

How your words held their shape
Held in time and held in place
By your fear of losing face
Now you’re twenty years too late

How your words held their shape
Held in time and held in place
Twenty years of saving face
Twenty years you can’t replace

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