As a child, I heard the refrain over and over again: ‘You are so like your mother!’ Physically, yes, there was an obvious resemblance, from our narrow frames to the shape of our faces and brown eyes.
Our shared love for music was also evident, particularly choral music. We both enjoyed country walks as well as elegant clothing. My favorite parts of her style were the striped shirt dresses and long skirts, as well as bold color choices.
But otherwise, for a long time, I disagreed heartily that we were in any way similar, convinced we were polar opposites — and it felt frustrating to be compared so often.
Throughout my childhood, Mum declared herself ‘always unambitious’, while I have always been inexplicably driven: Mum was a born worrier; I am a natural risk-taker.

Dame Helena Morrisey has been reflecting on the relationship with her mother Jackie (pictured), who died last week of suspected heart failure at the age of 82
And that’s just the start. Although my mum kept her home tidy, I’m naturally messy. Following an attempt to bake brandy snaps with Mum, I was kicked out of baking. It was difficult to get rid of the sticky paste that had dripped onto the oven’s sides.
She had two children and ‘wasn’t very keen on the baby stage’, but took time out to be at home with my sister and me. Because I love babies and I had to balance motherhood with my City job, I now have nine.
Morning lie-ins were her favorite, while I have always been up well before the civilized hour. But after decades of being the yin to her yang, she’s no longer here to be compared to — and that’s the saddest thing of all.
Jackie, my mother, passed away last week from suspected heart failure. She was 82 years old.
She leaves my father, Tony, also 82, and a big family: my sister Liz and me, two sons-in-law, 11 grandchildren plus the eldest two’s spouses and our middle son’s fiancée and three great-grandchildren — 21 in total.
While there is so much about Mum’s life to celebrate, I’m feeling her loss terribly. Over the past few days, I have been reflecting on how in recent years we did in fact reach a new level of mutual understanding, shared beliefs and an appreciation of each other’s strengths — and empathy for our respective weaknesses.
Under the surface we were more similar than I ever let myself admit — and now she’s gone, that’s a comfort rather than an irritation.
I was, I concede, a challenging child to parent — right from the start, when my mother suffered terrible post-natal depression. My father was always patient, my mother got frustrated.

Helena claimed that she was a long-term talkaholic and loved to have lengthy conversations with her mother, even if they didn’t agree. Pictured: Helena and her husband Richard with their nine children
She took me to the doctor about my lack of sleep and fretted, understandably, over my teenage anorexia, and perhaps less understandably, about my tendency to work ‘too hard’. I must be one of very few children whose mother insisted they work less (I’m afraid I took no notice).
My mum was always there to talk with me through my teenage and childhood years. We would chat during long walks together and though I can’t recall how the tradition started, she was happy for me to sit in the bathroom during her long hot baths, when she covered her modesty with strategically placed flannels while we caught up at the end of the day.
Even though we didn’t agree, those talks were a joy for me. And I came to appreciate that my mother’s ‘tendencies’ were the result of her own childhood: born in May 1939, she had a lucky escape at 18 months old when a large bomb fell into the garden next door, but failed to explode. After the terrifying incident, her parents decided to rent their Beckenham house to someone else in order to be safer. But they couldn’t find any suitable place and were forced to take back their home from other tenants.
My mother suffered from post-natal depression, so it was quite a challenge for me.
So, my mother was forced to live in a tent until seven years old. Then, a judge ordered the evacuation of all occupants. My mother (along with her brother and sister younger) were allowed to return.
She told me many times that they lived from ‘hand to mouth’ during this time and the experience clearly prompted her propensity towards anxiousness. This manifested itself in her habit of focusing on what might go wrong — ‘I’ll pick you up after school today, but if the car breaks down . . .’
My paternal grandparents lived nearby and offered me a swap. We moved in to their larger house, which had a small terrace. While not affluent — Mum didn’t work when my sister and I were young and my father’s teacher salary was enough to live on but not for extravagances — mine was a happy, stable childhood. I was given a lot by my mother, despite her tendencies to worry.
In the long hot summer of 1976, my sister and I both caught mumps and couldn’t meet our friends, so each day we would take a picnic lunch in our bicycle baskets and go cycling by ourselves for the whole day, exploring.

Helena believed that having the freedom to choose her destiny from a young age was a sign of independence and an understanding of her responsibility. Pictured: Jackie with Helena’s granddaughter, also called Helena, her daughter Flo and Helena
This happened long before smartphones. As I reflect back on my youth, Liz was six and I was ten. But that freedom to roam — and being given responsibility for my sister — was an invaluable childhood experience.
My mother’s approach to both my playtime and my studies was the opposite of the Tiger Mums we hear about today and I believe contributed enormously to making me the person I am today.
Being able to take my own decision from an early age has encouraged independent thought and responsibility.
I went to the local co-ed state school and my parents were thrilled when I got a place to study philosophy at Cambridge University — they had met at Cambridge in 1958. My mother was doing her teaching training at Homerton and my dad was reading chemical engineering at Queens’ College.
My mom was confused about my decision to search for a City job following graduation and tried to understand my joy when Schroders bank offered me the role. I suspect she felt — maybe subconsciously — that I was rejecting their way of life.
She made me who I am today, the opposite of Tiger Mum.
My life changed rapidly. My life changed quickly from one of rural upbringings to New York City. It was both energising and terrifying as a 21-year old shy person. I felt homesick at times. (Possibly ironically because of my public persona, I’m naturally shyer than my mom.
But my mother overcame her acute fear of flying — I don’t recall her flying on any other occasion in her entire life — to come out with my dad to visit, and I was enormously grateful. This was yet another instance of my mother not being afraid to take on personal challenges for her daughters.
Richard and I were engaged shortly after my return. In fact, it was our second engagement — we met at Cambridge and originally planned on marrying straight afterwards, but I got cold feet — only to realise my mistake. He took me back, thankfully!

Helena shared that her pride in being like her mother is what she feels now and how grateful she is for all her mothers love. Jackie and Helena
Although my mother would be the first to say she hadn’t been sure about Richard to start with, they became great friends over the years.
As my career took off and my own family grew, I regretted that we didn’t see each other very often. The big holidays — Christmas, Easter, birthdays and weddings — became the happy occasions where we all spent time together, with my sister and her own family.
My mother couldn’t understand why I wanted so many children — until they grew up a little. Like me, she loved them and was proud to be part of their lives. This was what brought us together over the years. After superficial divergence, my mother and I began to converge around what mattered — family life, our Christian faith and the importance of thinking for ourselves.
Mom taught me from a young age that your opinion matters, that the received wisdom may not always be correct and that I can use my voice to make my point.
I was the one who told her she loved me when we first met. The same thing I replied
This is an extraordinary legacy. It’s a testament to her commitment to children and a way of life that goes against the traditional view that they should not be heard but seen. Over the past 20 years, our personality differences narrowed too; my mother didn’t exactly stop worrying but learned to appreciate the good things, while age and experience taught me to be more risk-aware.
Last year’s Covid restrictions meant our last Christmas together was two years ago. My eldest daughter surprised me by coming from California on Christmas Eve with her two children. It was four generations of family, and it was made more memorable by their surprise.
Liz, my sister, is a teacher and hosted the luncheon for our entire family. The family sat together at two tables so that we could all fit in and enjoyed the large, delicious buffet.
A final gathering — though of course we didn’t know it then — that I know brought great joy to my mother. My mother told me that she is proud of me and loves me. My mum agreed and I did the same.
Today, I’m especially proud to be ‘so like my mother’ and so grateful for her unconditional love.