Sixty-nine years ago this month, seated in a beer garden in Monterrey, Mexico: my great-aunt Claudia, grandfather, aunt Sue, a friend of theirs, my mother and my grandmother. At that particular moment, my mother was newly graduated from college.

I don’t know much about their visit to Monterrey. I don’t remember my mother ever mentioning the trip, or expressing any desire to visit Mexico again, though just to judge by this single picture, they seemed to be enjoying themselves. I can’t even remember when I first heard about the trip, but it wasn’t until well after I was grown. Just goes to show you that you can’t really know that much, except maybe in outline, about your parents’ lives before you were born.