My Sister Joyce.
Aged 80 years

My sister was born in Plymouth North Devon.

A blue eyed redhead like dad, I was hazel eyed redhead, eyes like my mother.

My mother moved to London when Joyce was 6 years old and lived with my father William John Rosser.

I was born when Joyce was 12 years old and we never got on, I suppose the age difference had a lot to do that.

Deep down I loved her, but she was bossy.

It was only when our mother Rhoda passed that we started to become sisters in the true sense, we became closer. I used to look after her children while she got ready to go out shopping or whatever. She was very conscious of how she looked, she HAD to be groomed to perfection before she would go anywhere.

She was also very insecure; she would repeatedly ask if she looked alright.

She smoked 1 after another; a ciggy was always dangling from the side of her mouth.

She did give up later in life and ended up not being able to be around anyone smoking as her chest was affected by smoking for such a long time.

I was 6 when war broke out, War was announced 9th Sep and I was 7 the following December.

Joyce's husband Dick went to war, Joyce gave birth to Margaret, I was an aunty at 8 years old, how proud I was of walking out with my little niece.

Dick was a prisoner of war for 4 years and went through hell, he would never discuss it when war ended.

Those 6 years were hell, Joyce and I lost many friends, me, school friends, Joyce her elder friends and mum and dad lost relatives and friends. They were bad years, full of fear but everyone pulled together,

Joyce had 4 children in all, Margaret, Geoff, David and Belinda.

I moved to Bristol and the rest of the family stayed in London. When Dick passed I spent 2 weeks at a time staying with Joyce, traveling from Bristol to London. I did this for 18 months, 2 weeks with her and 2 weeks at home.

Then she moved with her daughter Margaret (who has loads of lolly) and had her own little bedroom/bathroom.

Joyce always had something wrong with her, I think she liked to be ill, she got full attention but as the years went on we all got fed up with her moaning ( sorry Sis ).

She went abroad every year with the family and took up her painting again. I have several pictures that she painted just for me.

Those last few years of her life we became so close, I loved her to bits and she told me one day that she pleaded with mum and dad to get her a sister and when I was born she went out into the road and shouted at the top of her voice " I HAVE A SISTER "

They were going on holiday to Portugal again but Joyce was worried about her health, she had recently had 2 operations for skin cancer on her face so she decided to go and stay with her other daughter Margaret who had moved to Devon.

She had only been there a few days when they went out to dinner and Joyce stumbled on the stairs, no-one knew that she had cracked a rib. 4 days later she was in the garden and told Margaret that she did not feel well and was going to bed, MOST unusual for her, at dinner time Margaret asked if she wanted any dinner and Joyce said no, later in the evening around 9-30 she called out to Margaret that she had an accident, when Margaret went in Joyce was sitting on the bed, all around her was faeces, it was pouring from her so they called the local Dr, he immediately called for an ambulance.

They settled her down for the night.

Margaret was going to collect her the next morning.

At 8 am she had a call from the hospital, could she come quick.

When Margaret and her husband Norman got to the hospital they were told that Joyce had had a heart attack and they could not revive her.

After the post mortem we found out that she had suffered silent heart attack and were assured that she would have felt no pain. But there were other complications as well.

Something wrong with her bowels.

I shall NEVER for get that phone call, Belinda rang me, she asked if I was alone and sitting down, then she told me. My world fell apart, my only sibling, gone, just like that, never will I speak to her again, never will I see her again.

It is coming up to the 4th anniversary of her passing and I am dreading it.

I miss my trips back home to London to see her, I miss our regular phone calls to just chat.

The funny thing about it all though is the fact that

Joyce was born in Devon, she passed in Devon and she was cremated on our mothers birthday 24th Aug.

SISTERS MAKE LIFE EASIER

A sister is the one who makes life easier to live,
Whom you can share our likes and dislikes with,
She is the one who tells us her vast secrets and feelings
And asks us to do the same,
And has the rights to know all our friends' name.
She makes us feel comfortable when we are sad,
She guides us the right way when we are bad,
She is more than any word can tell,
She holds us when we tend to fall.
She comes to know our problems through our eyes,
She is of course naughty but wise,
She is my life's sunrise.
We should always make oneself full
of these qualities to be a sister.
And my Sister Joyce you are the most beloved to me
As you care so much for me!
Love your little sister Jo

Jo Somerset