In late 1952 I was enjoying life as the centre of the universe – well my universe, anyway – when something turned my world upside down; Jane Elizabeth arrived. I’d been born almost two years earlier. Apparently in those days you could only have the first child in hospital. All the rest had to be born at home. So Jane was born on November 14th 1952 in Verney Road on the outskirts of Bournemouth. We were best friends from the start. She was my partner in crime. She was an out and out tom boy, and much braver than me. Dresses were bought but she refused to wear them. On numerous occasions Mum would be called out by a neighbour to say that Jane was at the top of the tallest tree in the area. Tree climbing was her big thing. Our next house move was to Montgomery Avenue (all our roads seemed to be named after World War Two field marshals). There we played cricket on summer evenings in the middle of the road, hunted for newts and lizards in the local swamps and practised our true obsession, all-in wrestling. This was on TV every Saturday. Jane’s favorite was Jackie Pallo, and mine Mick McMannus. Jane and I would duplicate their bouts. Jane gamely did her best to win, but usually ended up on the wrong end of a position called the Boston crab. Today this would be banned under health and safety regulations, but Jane usually ended up in fits of laughter. My self-appointed role as protective brother during this time paid dividends. A very loud Welsh girl called Mary Jones lived across the road, and made a habit of chasing Jane. One day I chased her back, she fell over and her mother swore blue murder at me in full ear shot of the rest of the neighbourhood. Mum was so embarrassed she took Jane and me off to the cinema to see our very first film: Davy Crocket and the Wild Frontier. We were hooked. We joined Saturday morning cinema. We loved films. We went to see Cliff Richard in Express Bongo, and Elvis in Follow That Dream. And then came the sixties. Mum and Dad bought us a record player for Christmas in 1961. It was called a Dansette. We played our records over and over again. We bought dozens of singles, like Let’s Dance by Chris Montez and Do the Locomotion by Little Eva. We danced the twist til we dropped. And then one day we heard Love me Do by the Beatles on the radio....at last, the future had arrived! Somehow Mum managed to get three tickets for the Beatles at Bournemouth Winter Gardens. To this day I don’t know how she got them. Jane and I went with my best friend Bryan. I was 11 and Jane was 9. We stood on our seats and screamed at the top of our voices. We couldn’t hear a thing, but we knew our lives had changed forever. A week later we went to see Gerry and the Pacemakers. They weren’t in the same league as the Beatles, but Jane bought the single anyway. Time seemed to speed up after that. I went to Exeter University, Jane went to Leeds, fell in love with Paul and got married. Her choice of Paul as a life partner tells you how incredibly smart my sister was. She and Paul then had four truly wonderful children, Zanna, Tim, Katherine and Caz, who have been an incredible gift to all of us. My sister absolutely adored Paul and her children, and being with them and caring for them was the most important thing in her life. They took wonderful care of her too. I was deeply impressed and moved by how Paul and the children supported and cared for Jane through her illness. My Mum and Dad and I are more grateful to you for this than we can ever put into words. I have often wondered how Jane turned out to be such a fantastic mum. I think part of the answer is that Jane and I had wonderful parents ourselves. Mum and Dad did everything they could to make our childhood happy and secure. Jane had a great reference point. Our Mum and Dad really taught us the meaning of the word ‘nurture’. Dad even managed to get old 11 plus exam papers so we could both practice and thereby raise our IQs. It worked on Jane, anyway, and she seems to have passed those extra IQ points on to all her children! Jane and I lived far apart in recent years and led very different lives, but we’ve spent many happy weeks together in West Kirby, and in France and Dorset. When I think back to them I still see her, alive and laughing with that special light in her eyes that she’s always had. Jane was strong, funny, loyal, positive, patient, deeply kind, loving and immensely brave. She was also my little sister, and friend and ally. I love her and miss her and always will.