I am so, so sad to hear about the death of Judith Kerr. I last saw her only a month or two ago, at an Oldie Literary Lunch, where she was in fine form and did not stint herself on a glass or two of wine. She seems to have been constitutionally a merry person, and a modest one.
Among the greatest privileges of doing our books podcast was meeting Judith at her house in Barnes, where we recorded our interview with her and her son Matthew Kneale. What made it really special was that – thanks to one of my routine childcare emergencies – I had my then four-year-old son Jonah in tow. I have a photograph, therefore – which I hope will be a lifelong treasure for him – of Jonah, aged four, sitting with Judith, aged 94. She signed his book, introduced him to Katinka the cat, and plied him with Cadbury’s Celebrations.
And what a body of work! Though she told me she didn’t even really think of herself as a writer, When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit is an acknowledged classic of Holocaust literature.
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