Christmas Eve 1950, we four children, aged from 2 to 8, crouched in front of the roaring fire ready to blow our lists up the chimney to Father Christmas as we did every year. We called out our desired gifts full of optimism that we might get just one of them as well as our usual apple, orange and new penny! I’d been very good and desperately wanted a large walking, talking doll which I’d seen in town, with long, curly hair and eyes which opened and closed. I’d chosen her name already: Esmeralda: a beautiful name for a beautiful doll.