We always knew today as Mothering Sunday in the vicarages in which I grew up.
Mothers - we all had one, even Caesar - mostly good, occasionally bad, but still our mothers.
Mine is still alive, though it's frightening to recall the young doctor's words to me and my siblings a couple of years ago; "We wouldn't normally intervene to this extent with someone of your mother's age, but Reception told us she was admitted surrounded by her family, so we've gone that extra step."
The power of doctors is awesome.
Anyway, this is a photo of me and my mother in 1945, taken just before my English father took his young Australian bride home. She looked like a film star, didn't she?