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Bessie was a serenely beautiful woman. Her raven hair, high cheekbones and huge almond eyes were reminiscent of the great Hollywood star, Ava Gardner.

Dressed in tailored chic with a glowing white pearl collar, her face flushed and her heart beating wildly, she bowed before her audience.

The auditorium was filled to its two thousand seat capacity. She responded to her standing ovation breathless, animated and high on adrenalin.

This event took place over half a century ago. In those days Bessie had mesmerized entire audiences with her heartfelt, emotional renditions of the great masters. She recreated their music with the technical wizardry required of a concert pianist. Rachmaninoff was her forte.

When she had finished playing, and the piano keys had ceased to fly, you could have heard a pin drop in the auditorium. Immediately thousands of patrons began clapping as they rose to their feet cheering and whistling. The din rose above the auditorium and was audible throughout the theatre and in the streets nearby.

Bessie was my mother. As I was growing up in the early sixties, she taught music. Like her audiences, I was fascinated by her. I watched and drank in the heady excitement as she practiced and performed. She was alive, vibrant and vivacious; the centre of the world around her and certainly of mine.

She charmed everyone she met and at school my friends were envious. They said she was "cool". For a sixties mother that was a mean feat indeed. Classmates who met her were fussed, offered chocolates and surprisingly, cigarettes. Please tell me which kid would not be flattered at being offered a cigarette by a beautiful and somewhat famous adult woman?

During the seventies as she was approaching forty she had a late pregnancy. Blooming and expectant, she looked the very picture of health. Photographs of her in maternity wear showed her looking content. She had long since given up performing and teaching.

Wishing to emulate her and play the piano, she had declined to teach me instead sending me to a teacher nearby. Having a musical mother was not easy as she heard every wrong note, every slurred arpeggio or missed beat. There would be a shout from within the house or out in the garden and I would have to redo the offending piece!

Suddenly she became ill. A blood clot appeared in her left leg. It was unsightly. She was taken into the clinic where they tied off her vein. Sadly, it was all too late. The clot hit her in the heart, lungs and brain as it traveled with speed

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