To Mum… Carol Maureen Clarke (with an ‘e’) was born on 7th July 1945, It was nearing the end of the war, at a time people were just glad to be alive. She was the youngest child of Helen and Brud, Grandad was a rose gardener and spent his days in the mud. Nan was an office worker and very different to him, And their marriage wasn’t always a happy one, at times it was a bit grim. But their love for their children shone right through, For mum and her beloved brother Ken too. She grew up in Brenchley, in the last house on Pixot Hill, Surrounded by fruit trees, where you could eat your fill. They had an outside loo, which Ken used to shoot water under, He’d tie her up and tease her until nan found him, her face like thunder. Life wasn’t always easy, there wasn’t a lot of money around, So grandad brought home chickens - best not to ask where they were found! Summers were spent in the fields filling umbrellas full of hops, Joining grandparents and Londoners at work, then playing in the copse. Nan made sure there was no missing out, She scrimped and saved for everything throughout. There were ballet and tap lessons, elocution too, And mum won a bronze medal for poetry reading - who ever knew? Nan focused on her children, she taught them to ballroom dance, She wanted to make sure that they had every chance. So she sent mum to a private school, where she made her name … for setting off a stink bomb - that was her claim to fame! Girls went home sick because of the smell, And you can just imagine how that went down well! When mum was just fifteen though, her parents parted ways, Which on reflection was a good thing and made for happier days. But when nan moved out, mum looked after her dad. It was just the two of them alone in the pad. Ken was in the air force then, so mum did the cooking and shopping, Nan came round on Fridays though, to help with all the mopping. And Saturdays were spent at the movies with tea in Tunbridge Wells, They had no TV at home and it was a weekly treat, just the girls. Grandad although unreliable, was fun to be around, And could be relied upon to let parties happen after the pub closed down! And it was at The Bull where mum met her Danny Boy at just seventeen, After that, he was never going to settle for an Irish colleen. Their on again, off again romance caused a hullabaloo, But when they committed to each other, they stuck like glue. He’d cycle from Goudhurst to see her after work, Where his reward was a kiss and maybe a pint as a perk. And after their courting, mum married her catholic, which wasn’t the done thing, And they both faced opposition before she put on his ring. But they proved everyone wrong. Living together for 53 years, their marriage was strong. They got engaged in London, at The Capri, After seeing ‘There’s a Girl in My Soup,’ he went down on one knee. They were married in St Augustine’s, which stood where Tesco’s now stands, And spent 10 days in San Sebastian, hand in hand. Their first place together was in Grove Hill Road, Then they moved to Showfields, when I was 18 months old. It was off to Langton then, where Lisa was born at home, And in that village, we all stayed for years no more to roam. Lisa and I grew up supported in all we did, Sports Days, plays and matches, no one did more for their kids. And that support continued mum’s whole life through, Not only for her children, but my children too. To Luke and Abby, she’s been a wonderful nan, Behind them and beside them, doing all she can. Mum and dad moved to Wadhurst to be closer to us all, And made their home here, going to matches, be it netball or football. She’d turn up with a meal when you were feeling down, Go do your shopping, or run an errand in town. She ironed and tidied, helping out where she could, They were both always there, helping and doing good. Not only for us, but for all those around, Whenever there was a problem, they both could be found. Mum always worked hard in all she did, And worked part time to be with us, when we were kids. Before that she’d been in an office, she’d learnt typing and shorthand, Working in Tunbridge Wells and London, taking notes with her left hand! She was a barmaid, a waitress, worked in a dress shop as well, Painted Subbuteo figures and was even a dinner lady for a spell. And when Lisa had a paper round, she also came with us, She was worried about us being alone, so she pushed the trolley without any fuss. Between us all we worked in every place in Langton Green, Be it shop, pub or restaurant, an O’Neill could be seen! We all worked at the paper shop, eating the odd sweet … not mum though, she was one of the most honest people you’ll meet. She wanted to be a hairdresser growing up you know, But couldn’t afford the low pay, so dad let her give his a go. She said she was scared of everything, but she was one of the bravest people I know, And dealt with every hurdle and illness, blow by blow. Although she suffered from anxiety most of her life, It didn’t stop her from being a good mum, friend and wife. Family and friends meant the world to mum, And this last year with lockdown, was a really tough one. When you made friends with mum, you made a friend for life, She took on all your problems and your pain cut through her like a knife. Hugs were a staple in our house growing up, And friends were always popping round to share a hug and a cup. And the surrogate daughters they took in and called their own, Who called 4 Knowle Close a home from home. Our house was filled with love, laughter and fun, And our parties were legendary, with food and drink by the ton. But most of all love, that shone all around, And is reflected in mum’s friendships, that knew no bounds. Mum loved to dance the jive with dad and with Ken, And I can’t believe and won’t believe I’ll never see it again. She made the tastiest spag bog, the best of roasts, She loved Pears soap, the smell of hops and old oasts. She loved playing bingo and darts, and won trophies galore, With dad always by her side, keeping the score. She loved roses and border collies, And used to watch Bjorn Borg and his volleys. She was a fan of Sinatra and Manly Barilow, But tops for her was Paul Newman, he was her beau. Mum was one for extreme expressions if she drank an oaky wine, And I loved her for it all, because she was mine. But she wasn’t only mine, she was ours to share, And she changed our world by simply being there. Love you mum, rest in peace.

Dear Carol, remembering you with great fondness sending you, Don, Debbie, Lisa and family my Love from Sue and the late George and Betty Moore. My thoughts will be with you. God Bless xxx

My second mum ... you worried about everything and yet you cared wholeheartedly about everyone you came across . I will never forget how you took me under your wing 30 years ago. Your warmth, humour and love enriched the lives of everyone you came across . You will forever be in our hearts 💕