Sun On The Water - The Brilliant Life And Tragic Death Of My Daughter Kirsty Maccoll. Jean MacColl

work out very well since they could not help anyone, they claimed, who could not keep up with note-taking, which Hamish of course struggled with after his accident. So in the end he took up Lisa Ullman’s offer to spend some time at her Art of Movement Studio before finally deciding to train as a doctor of Chinese medicine.

      One evening towards the end of 1968, I got a call from my mother Norrie, by then in her late seventies. She seemed a little distressed and tearfully begged me to come over to her flat in Croydon. This behaviour was so unlike her that I left the children and drove over immediately. When I arrived, she was in bed and appeared to be asleep. I managed to wake her. It seems she had had ‘a turn’ and, realising the door was on the chain, she had crawled over to it and struggled for a long time to remove it before phoning me. I called her doctor – our friend Arron Rapoport – and he told me she had had a stroke, though the prognosis did not seem to be too serious.

      I returned to Beech Way to collect Kirsty and a suitcase of clothes and we both moved into my mother’s flat while Hamish had a friend to keep him company at home. After a few days the invalid was sitting up and taking a keen interest in everything.

      Meanwhile, Kirsty attended school daily and was appearing in a school musical. My brother Pip came down from Nettleham in Lincolnshire, staying overnight. He and Arron sat chatting to each other one evening over a glass of whisky. Arron said to my mother that it was better if she didn’t have any spirits just yet. She laughed and told me she considered it most unfair – after all, it was her whisky they were drinking!

      The nurse visited every day and we all expected her to make a full recovery. We began to make plans as to who would do what for Christmas. Her pastry was always better than mine, so the mince pies were her responsibility. She looked pleased and said she was going to hold a party. In great spirits at overcoming this final ‘hiccup’ of the year, Kirsty and I went out to buy a pair of school shoes. On our return, a little later than expected owing to the Christmas crowds, however, my mother had lapsed into a coma. It was obvious she had been up and pottering. From then on it was only a question of time. She woke up once and smiled when I told her I loved her. ‘You love me too, don’t you?’ I said. She nodded.

      I was alone with her when she died. There was nothing more I could do, so after Arron had certified her death, I slipped away to the school to see the last ten minutes of the Christmas musical, having promised Kirsty I would try to put in an appearance. I didn’t tell her immediately that her granny had died: I felt she had achieved so much, being able to attend regularly enough to be part of a school production and I didn’t want to spoil the occasion. My mother’s funeral took place immediately before Christmas. It was a very sad season for me, of course. She had become a great support to us and things were improving as Kirsty was able to lead a more normal life.