SHE looked no more than 14-years-old, a frightened schoolgirl hiding behind her spectacles in a corner of Cornmarket Street’s Macdonald’s. She had been crying.

Perhaps she wanted to be alone, but I find it difficult to ignore anyone in distress, especially when occupying the only vacant seat which was next to her.

“Are you all right?” I asked, a ridiculous question, but it was the best I could come up with. She shook her head, so I abandoned this puerile investigation and waited for her to speak. It took about three minutes. When she did, hers was not the voice of a 14-year-old schoolgirl. There was much maturity.

She apologised (not necessary, I said) but she was terribly homesick. She was 19, a first-year student in Oxford. It was her first time away from home and it was hard. She had caring roommates but she was sure they were tiring of her tears – and who could blame them.

“For years I had dreamed of coming to Oxford and had believed everything would run smoothly. I never expected to feel the way I do. People have been kind. I have been given advice and it has helped – a little. I suppose being an only child doesn’t help,” she said.

Her last words struck a chord. I too am an only child, long in the tooth these days, but I felt qualified to listen and if need be, to comment. I remembered being away from home for the first time – the Queen required my services in the Army – and for several weeks I missed everything and everybody back home. And, yes, I admit to having shed a tear or two.

Homesickness isn’t something you encourage. If it hits you no amount of sympathy from others or tough talking to yourself can do a thing.

My young friend said she felt a little better after hearing my confession but I warned her not to expect an overnight miracle. She was smiling when we parted. I hope this will be a turning point for her.

FOR years I had known her only as Mrs Lloyd, the lady who ran the cattery at King’s Sutton. Last week she died suddenly. She was a good age – even though she would never discuss numbers. In recent years she needed help these days to run the place, but her hand was still firmly on the business.

Mrs Lloyd had for years been the area’s Cat Protection League link and many a homeless moggy had reason to thank her for its survival – including Nat the Cat, who rules the roost at my place. I didn’t want another cat, I had said. Mrs Lloyd knew better – and she was right.