If there was one thing we all knew about Joan, it is that she was a voracious reader. It’s a trait us Yates sisters have always shared; Joan being a walking encyclopaedia of knowledge, poems and literary puns. No matter the day, weather or a six-year, global war - there was always time for a book.

Yates reading sessions were common. But unlike the usual animated debates of literary clubs, we had the invigorating approach of not talking while engrossed in our books. During one of these sessions, I asked if anyone would like a cup of coffee. Joan, who was likely reading a book the size of a small country, looked up and replied, “no thank you.” According to her, the last cup she had just had “wasn’t nice at all”.

I, with a shrug, entered the kitchen… only to return to a few moments later. I asked Joan what she had used to make the coffee?

You see, food and drink during the war weren’t exactly appetising. Portions were rationed, luxuries were rare, and everything edible was usually mixed with something just as inedible. Coffee was no different. It came in the form of a lovely, liquid concentrate made from coffee and chicory. However, it also happened that this lovely, liquid concentrate looked frighteningly similar to the mushroom ketchup sitting on our kitchen shelf by the kettle. Joan, so engrossed in her book, had wandered into the kitchen and grabbed said ketchup, proceeding to make a warm, freshly brewed cup of mushroom-y coffee. And then drank it all.

Despite this, Joan’s love for books – and coffee – lasted all her life.