She had gone to University. Helen had always been mature beyond her years. She was a female version of Jim, without the smugness and had, therefore, not been dazzled by the bright lights of Southport and Liverpool, once she had hit alcohol consuming age. She would sometimes head out drinking with friends, but she liked the quiet, local pub, finish at eleven, environment of Ormskirk, rather than the busy, nightclub, finish at two with a kiss or a kebab, environment of Southport. To put it bluntly, Helen was very pleasant but a little unadventurous. A bookworm. The studious type. She passed nine “ O ” levels with “ A ” s and “ B ” s and then four “ A ” Levels with B ’ s and C ’ s. She was accepted at Lancaster University to read Economics.
Lancaster University was ideal for Helen, as it appeared to me to be pretty much Ormskirk on campus. A close knit community of people (in this case, students) without the bright lights of a major city.
In October 1986, as my mother sobbed heartily, we all squashed into the Sierra Estate, with Jim in the boot and took Helen up to Lancaster. On the way home, Caroline was brimming over with excitement, she had lost a sister, but for the first time in her life now had a bedroom that she could call her own.
Caroline and I were the closest siblings. Growing up, we hadn ’ t been particularly close, but once she hit fifteen, Caroline developed a wild, independent, rebellious streak and I just thought she was fantastic! Much to Mum ’ s dismay, she had each ear pierced several times, wore more make-up than Boy George, had a steady flow of weird looking boyfriends and a record player that Spinal Tap would have been proud of as she played everything at volume eleven.
When Helen shared her room, Caroline would spend a lot of time out of the house, at friends or boyfriends, but once Helen went, the friends and boyfriends came to us. Dad was a little bit intimidated by Caroline, so he used to send Mum in to battle.
“ Go and tell her to switch that bloody rubbish down, Dot! ”
“ Dot, that new boyfriend ’ s been up in Cal ’ s room for ages, go up will you and check he isn ’ t giving us a grandchild! ”
One of the things Caroline and I had in common, was an interest in music, or even a passion for music. Caroline had an eclectic taste, which meant some of the stuff she was into, was brilliant, but some of it was bloody awful! Amongst her particular favourites were Scorpions, Depeche Mode, The Smiths, INXS, Throwing Muses, Pink Floyd, Marillion, 10,000 Maniacs and Al Stewart ( “ only the early stuff ” ). I thought they were all great, but she also liked T ’ Pau, It Bites, Terence Trent D ’ Arby, Leonard Cohen and Tom Waits, all of whom I thought were absolutely terrible! To be fair, with Leonard Cohen and Tom Waits, I just didn ’ t get them when I was fif teen and reluctantly had to admit to Caroline, later in life, that I had become a huge fan of both.
With Jim being a super nerd, I used to wander into Helen and Caroline ’ s room pretty frequently just to get away from him and my bond with Caroline just strengthened from when I was fourteen onwards. Caroline was a mousey blonde like me, but had gone a lot fairer, which she initially explained was down to the summer weather (Dad had barred her from having her hair highlighted, saying it was a complete waste of money – the words pot, kettle, betting slips and black, spring to mind!). One day though, I was in her room with her, listening to Al Stewart ’ s “ Love Chronicles ” (which Caroline told me was the first ever song to mention the “ f ” word), when the true source of the colour change was revealed.
“ How come your hair used to be the same colour as mine and now its really blonde? ”
“ The sun ’ s been on it. ”
“ Get lost! Do you not think the sun would have reached mine too? I haven ’ t been wearing a bandana! ”
“ Yeh, but I ’ ve been squeezing lemon juice into mine!
Lancaster University was ideal for Helen, as it appeared to me to be pretty much Ormskirk on campus. A close knit community of people (in this case, students) without the bright lights of a major city.
In October 1986, as my mother sobbed heartily, we all squashed into the Sierra Estate, with Jim in the boot and took Helen up to Lancaster. On the way home, Caroline was brimming over with excitement, she had lost a sister, but for the first time in her life now had a bedroom that she could call her own.
Caroline and I were the closest siblings. Growing up, we hadn ’ t been particularly close, but once she hit fifteen, Caroline developed a wild, independent, rebellious streak and I just thought she was fantastic! Much to Mum ’ s dismay, she had each ear pierced several times, wore more make-up than Boy George, had a steady flow of weird looking boyfriends and a record player that Spinal Tap would have been proud of as she played everything at volume eleven.
When Helen shared her room, Caroline would spend a lot of time out of the house, at friends or boyfriends, but once Helen went, the friends and boyfriends came to us. Dad was a little bit intimidated by Caroline, so he used to send Mum in to battle.
“ Go and tell her to switch that bloody rubbish down, Dot! ”
“ Dot, that new boyfriend ’ s been up in Cal ’ s room for ages, go up will you and check he isn ’ t giving us a grandchild! ”
One of the things Caroline and I had in common, was an interest in music, or even a passion for music. Caroline had an eclectic taste, which meant some of the stuff she was into, was brilliant, but some of it was bloody awful! Amongst her particular favourites were Scorpions, Depeche Mode, The Smiths, INXS, Throwing Muses, Pink Floyd, Marillion, 10,000 Maniacs and Al Stewart ( “ only the early stuff ” ). I thought they were all great, but she also liked T ’ Pau, It Bites, Terence Trent D ’ Arby, Leonard Cohen and Tom Waits, all of whom I thought were absolutely terrible! To be fair, with Leonard Cohen and Tom Waits, I just didn ’ t get them when I was fif teen and reluctantly had to admit to Caroline, later in life, that I had become a huge fan of both.
With Jim being a super nerd, I used to wander into Helen and Caroline ’ s room pretty frequently just to get away from him and my bond with Caroline just strengthened from when I was fourteen onwards. Caroline was a mousey blonde like me, but had gone a lot fairer, which she initially explained was down to the summer weather (Dad had barred her from having her hair highlighted, saying it was a complete waste of money – the words pot, kettle, betting slips and black, spring to mind!). One day though, I was in her room with her, listening to Al Stewart ’ s “ Love Chronicles ” (which Caroline told me was the first ever song to mention the “ f ” word), when the true source of the colour change was revealed.
“ How come your hair used to be the same colour as mine and now its really blonde? ”
“ The sun ’ s been on it. ”
“ Get lost! Do you not think the sun would have reached mine too? I haven ’ t been wearing a bandana! ”
“ Yeh, but I ’ ve been squeezing lemon juice into mine!
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