Some time in or around the year 1870 (her date of birth, like that of so many actresses, a moveable feast) our paternal grandmother was born in a trunk and trod the boards from toddlerhood as fairy, phantom, goblin, eventually, an old stager of eight (give or take a year or two) making her London debut as Mamilius in The Winter’s Tale at the Theatre Royal, Haymarket, in, it says here, a ‘somewhat pedantic’ production by the younger Kean (Charles), and a costume copied from a Greek vase, rolling a hoop, a bit of business copied off another Greek vase. Lewis Carroll saw her, sent her an inscribed copy of Alice, invited her to tea and got her to slip her frock off after crumpets, whereupon he snapped her in the altogether but she drew the line at imitating the action depicted upon certain other Greek vases, or so she always maintained. Here’s the evidence of the encounter. See? He called it Sprite. I bought it at an auction at Christie’s. Cost an arm and a leg. Couldn’t resist. Not many people can boast a photo of their grandmother posing for kidiporn.