Margaret Thatcher: The Autobiography (125 page)

Before going outside, and with Denis and Mark beside me, I paused to collect my thoughts. Crawfie wiped a trace of mascara off my cheek, evidence of a tear which I had been unable to check. The door opened onto press and photographers. I went out to the bank of microphones and read out a short statement which concluded:

I waved and got into the car with Denis beside me, as he has always been; and the car took us past press, policemen and the tall black gates of Downing Street, away from red boxes and parliamentary questions, summits and party conferences, budgets and communiqués, situation room and scrambler telephones, out to whatever the future held.

My father.

My mother as a young woman.

My father’s shop in Grantham, where I grew up.

With my father.

With my sister Muriel. I am on the right of the picture.

In the garden at the house of some friends during the summer of 1935, aged ten.

Muriel, father, mother and me on the day my father became mayor of Grantham.

At Somerville College, Oxford, with the 1943 intake.

At work as a research chemist.

With Denis on our wedding day.

My 1951 election address.

As MP for Finchley in 1962.