May Farrow

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As a child of around eight or nine, one of my favourite activities was to sit and go through my father's photographs. While some of the photos were organised in albums, most were just gathered in an old leather suitcase. I suppose, like most of us, father had just hung on to them in the belief that he would get around to sorting them out one day.

One, in particular, I would return to often, was photograph of a little girl of about my age. She was sitting, cross legged with a black and white puppy on her lap. Short bobbed hair and dark eyes, I fancied that she and I looked alike.

My aunt May, of course, was 20 years my senior, and sadly, we were destined to never meet.

May was born in India in 1924, the seventh child of my grandparents, George and May Elsie. Her mother died only weeks after May's birth, and while some of her siblings went off to Lawrence Memorial boarding school (my father included), I don't know who cared for May as a baby or during her childhood years.

All I have are a few grainy black and white photos of that same dark eyed girl growing up, one in what seems to be a girl guide uniform, another in a solemn family portrait.

In the 1940's and 50's most of the family left India, a couple went to England, and two, my uncle and my father came to Australia. My grandfather remained in India, and died there in 1967.

May followed here sister to England, where she stayed for a year or so before setting out for Canada at age 30, in 1954, and where she died in 2022.

All I have of May is a memory of how I loved her when I was a child, a belief in her independence and resilience, and a few black and white photographs.

I mourn her passing.

Melanie Farrow