Part 5 of 5 (Part 1 here, Part 4 here)
It must have been in the spring of 1962 that I received a message one afternoon asking me to call at nearby Bow Street Police Station. (“What has she done now?” I thought.) It was a telephone call (I had no telephone in London) from the Immigration Department at Newhaven; they had my friend Maximiani Portas there; she had only £9 in money and had come from India with very odd luggage, and they were not disposed to allow her in. (more…)