The phone rang in the evening and I thought I recognised the low, slow voice of my old friend Pat. She was born three months after me – delivered by my midwife grand mother, so we were sort of sisters. She was blonde, bonny and serene and when I visited my Gran we became playmates.
As Pat had married I didn’t recognise the name but curiosity won the day and I had a long puzzling conversation with her husband until the penny dropped. It was a happy reunion; she still lived in the north and when we visited our cottage in Skipton we would get together and catch up. Coincidentally her husband Jack was born and bred in the next street to my Grandfather in Cleator Moor.In later years Pat and I would catch up with long telephone conversations. She was very proud of her children and grand-children – none of whom I had met.
The voice on the phone was her daughter; she had seem my Christmas card, finally found my phone number and was telling me that her much loved mother passed away some time ago. I realised I hadn’t heard since I sent her birthday card and wished I had phoned her. Her daughter told me her father died in October – which was a blessed release, but her mother’s death had been a great shock and I really felt for her.
She asked me how we had known each other and was very interested in hearing about our childhood. When Gran delivered Pat she asked her mother what they were going to call her and when they said Patricia, Gran – in her forthright way said;“Oh no you can’t: my granddaughter is christened Patricia.”
Requiem in pace dearest Patricia.