During our child rearing years, we women found ourselves lucky enough to find each other. Our kids were a gang and so were we.

The years tumble together in a series of images and memories, like a pile of photographs:

Dinners where food had to be served in two sittings to accommodate the numbers; wine fulled debates rumbled and passed; three act epics performed by the kids in wigs and whacky costumes; school fairs and cakes sales and chaotic community meals.

All of us cosied up in Christa cashmere as we set off on a 3 hour walk around the marshes or for a snowy sledge whizz in Springfield Park, or a trip to the seaside for picnics and swimming: always lots of laughter and fun, so lucky to have a village to raise our young.

And at the centre of the picture and the story, Carol’s beautiful smile is there — her poise, her kindness, her impeccable manners and gentleness of spirit:  always the best listener in the room and generous to the core.

In these moments there is often sunshine — French and English — or the steamy chlorine stink of a municipal sauna and, more often than not, there is cake. Banana bread at Clissold swimming pool or delicious home baked Carol Cake: birthdays, anniversaries, high days and holidays: a room full of us and a cake.

We remember her at home, her wonderful taste, her immense creativity — her weaving; the community garden she created — our faltering french lessons where we laugh more than we speak. Pictures and pictures but always beautiful, always smiling, always the most positive person in the room.  Right up to the very end. Surrounded by the family she loved so much.

Maybe our time has been cut short, but we are all better for finding Carol and for finding each other and she will live on with us in our enduring community.

With love and in fond memory of our dear Carol – Clapton Goddess extraordinaire.