Katherine McDonald (Niece)

I’m Christine’s daughter, who is Sheila’s youngest sister. We’ve always lived with at least an ocean between us and I had always wanted to make a trip to see her and get to know her better as an adult. Unfortunately in putting it off, I missed that chance. I am so grateful for my childhood memories of her.

During the 1980’s she lived in Sulmona, a little town in a mountainous region in Italy. She taught English at the local Fiat plant. My mum took my younger siblings and me to visit her there several times. I remember Sheila being very tall and elegant with a mass of thick, wavy red hair. She had a lilting way of speaking marked with an accent acquired from the early years of her life in northern England during the war. It was different from my mother’s, having been raised in south west England. I recall being in awe of Sheila as a youngster. In Sulmona, she moved comfortably amongst people who were intimidating strangers to me: I observed her cracking a joke or offering a compliment, all delivered in fluent Italian. It seemed like anywhere we went, she knew people and interacted with an ease and soothing gentleness that could lead you to believe she had been there her whole life. At that age I was figuring out my personality, values and goals and I sensed she was the kind of adult I wanted to become. While I really looked up to her, I never felt intimidated by her. She was very patient and kind and she knew how to talk to and engage with a child on their level without making them feel condescended to. I imagine that’s part of what made her such an excellent teacher.

She was also incredibly adventurous and brave. As a single woman in the 1960’s through the 1990’s she traveled widely, learned the regional language and made a place and name for herself in each spot. One such memory is from a trip to Sulmona. The town was in a valley surrounded by mountains, which she loved exploring in her little car. One afternoon, we packed a picnic and the five of us bundled into the car, feeling a bit like sardines. We drove up into those mountains until we found a perfect flat spot to enjoy our lunch. I think it must have been a crisp Autumn day because we were dressed warmly in sweaters, but didn’t need jackets. It was a little later in the afternoon and the sun was beginning to dip in the sky. There was a nip in the air, but the lingering sunlight warmed us and washed the surrounding dried brush in the kind of ochre light that the Italian landscape is known for. We ate and laughed, and although I don’t remember what we talked about, I’m sure we sat in rapt attention. I remember adoring the very tangible love and respect that clearly abounded between these two sisters, my mother and my aunt, and as a child it made me feel safe and it gave me an understanding of how important family is, throughout your whole life.

Shortly after we finished eating, we packed up the car and ventured farther along the darkening mountain roads to a village hall where they were serving lasagna and spaghetti, along with a community dance afterwards. I wasn’t a very confident or outgoing child, but Sheila gently coaxed me onto the dance floor and I learned some easy country dances, then befriended a little girl around my age. Though neither of us could communicate with the other, we bounced around together for hours and it felt natural and joyful. That day is one of the most memorable of my childhood, and that’s thanks to Sheila. In sharing these experiences — exploration, love of nature, good food, music, dancing and togetherness — she taught me that it’s usually the simplest pleasures that form the happiest memories.