Ida Mann’s autobiography reminded me a little of the kind of speech that well-known elderly women tend to give to girls’ speech nights – full of zest, homely admonition, and assurances to the rows of upturned young faces that they’ll get out of life what they put in.

Like so many autobiographies, The Chase has a curiously undigested quality about it. Only if you stand well back and listen carefully is it possible to pick up the moments when self-awareness breaks through the public presentation – when the voice changes for a moment or two before briskly carrying on with the account of people and places and professional milestones.