Looking back, it puzzles me that my parents decided to stay in Shanghai when they must have known that war was imminent. But the cotton works were my father's responsibility, and duty then counted for something.

I'm not a great one for looking back.

In March 1943, my parents, four-year-old sister and I were interned with other foreign civilians at Lunghua camp, a former teacher training college outside Shanghai, where we remained until the end of August 1945.

It is not possible to go forward while looking back.

Looking back, I guess I've lived an unusual life.

Amazing what more we can see looking back. But God didn't give us eyes in the back of our heads. Our eyes, like our feet, face forward, toward the future.