'Getting myself born,' I told her.
'Getting born? You mean you were born over here? Where?' There was a note of excitement in her voice.
'Redruth,' I said.
'Then you're Cornish?'
'I suppose so — by birth,' I added cautiously. 'My father was, anyway.'
'Your father was a Cornishman?' She seemed unusually interested. 'What about your mother?'
'She was Cornish too.'
'Is your mother still in Canada?'
'No,' I replied. And then for some reason I added. 'I don't know where she is. She ran off with somebody else. That's why we went to Canada.'
I suddenly realised that she had stopped ironing. I looked round quickly to find her leaning on the iron, staring at me with her eyes wide and that puzzled expression on her face. 'What's your name?' she asked.