London 1943. The Babylonian wartime canteen of the BBC at Bush House. She sat with colleagues of mine two or three tables away. Our glances crossed twice. When she left I hurried to find out who was that fascinating lady.

- Funny, my friend said, she also wanted to know who you were.

We both remember that day.

London 1953. But our first encounter took place ten years later when a common friend took me to a party at her house in 9 Paulton's Square. That day marked the beginning of a friendship now forty-seven years old, one of the most precious gifts destiny bestowed upon me. So only space here to dwell on one aspect, practically unknown: her interest in Spanish poetry and drama.

One day, talking with some friends about early religious plays, I quoted a few lines from the Nativity Play of Gómez Manrique, the Spanish fifteenth century poet and dramatist. 'If you help me I might attempt a translation', she exclaimed. And two weeks later, a note: 'I am delighted with this beautiful tragic little Nativity Play, I could hardly translate it without tears. It is symbolically perfect, and I have never seen anything so moving as Our Lady's prayer for understanding of the God-child she has to bring up.'

Other translations followed. Among them, several pieces from Lorca beautifully published by the Enitharmon Press. The translation of the famous Calderon's Life's a Dream however ...