Carole

My earliest recollections as a child are like fragments of broken pieces that lie scattered after falling from what was undoubtedly a large picture. My earliest years were in north Leeds living on a street, Woodliffe Crescent, just off Scott Hall Road and it was here I lived obviously with my parents and sister until I was five years old and from here we moved to a village, Barwick-in-Elmet to the east of the city. Although my memory is piecemeal I remember school in Chapel Allerton and a wind up toy bear who never fully recovered after being sped through playground puddles. The street with our house was a cul-de-sac and safe to play in although Scott Hall Road was busy with traffic and I think we lost one or even two shelties who made the fatal mistake of getting loose onto that road.

Amongst these ‘fragments’ was meeting a young girl. My recollection is in our garden, she’s sat on a three wheeler bike clutching an ice cream cornet but playing with it rather than embarking on my own probable action of devouring it as quickly as I could without brain freeze. This was my cousin Carole visiting with her aunt, May, from New Zealand. I knew, and it was later confirmed, that Carole had challenges. She’d caught meningitis when even younger and this had changed her life. It would be fair to say I hadn’t given her a lot of thought over the intervening 60 odd years but neither had I to the other nine children, my cousins, of my mother’s five siblings. It only has been Anna’s brilliant forensic genealogy that has found cousins and they are all now becoming, with their spouses, fast friends.

In the discussions with the ‘cousins’ any knowledge of the children of the second eldest ‘sibling’, May, were lost. We knew that May and her husband, George, had emigrated to New Zealand in the early 1950s and whilst we could recollect various meetings and the careers of Carole’s older brother, Malcolm, we assumed that due to Carole’s earlier health misfortune maybe she would have passed away by now. In tracking down Malcolm he confirmed she was alive and living in sheltered accommodation in Auckland. She has never met any of her other ten cousins in decades; I was to be the first. In meeting I imagined it would not mean a lot to her but, for me it was simply enormous.

When discussing her with Malcolm, and my visit to Auckland, it was he who suggested I meet her. I so wanted to do this but for him to volunteer this was a great relief. So I met Carole but before that I visited my aunt’s grave. She’d lain here since a heart attack in 1975 took her.

My uncle, a person I never met, had lived to a grand old age of 99 and in his latter years he had moved to Brisbane to be near family. Clearly he needed some family support himself at this great age.

So I ventured to the northern Auckland suburbs and thanks to the internet (and Anna’s detective work) knew where my aunt laid. It still took some finding due to poor signage in this massive cemetery of many faiths and sections. However after 30 minutes I found her.

So from here I continued a few miles north into a very hilly residential area and found my cousin.

What can I say: for a couple of hours we talked about her family and her life. She loves the church and also her trips to see family in Brisbane where her other relatives live now. I wondered how well we could communicate; her communication skills were fine but a life in a home means her world view is very curtained. Here she’s well cared for, safe and lives with other women who have their mental health challenges. Carole is 74 in September.

I felt I should have been more curious over the years and got to Auckland sooner but, I suppose, better late than never. In fairness it is a long way from Acaster Malbis. A very happy day for me.