Although we were cousins, Jan and I were pretty much known
as sisters. My mother Nell was living in a single room at Wentworth House (now Sydney Central Hotel) and doing shift work in the ticket office at Central Railway. Her sister Madge and husband Bill took me to live with them
when I was about three. 
Jan’s daughter Kylee rang yesterday morning that Jan was critical in Canberra Hospital. As we drove up the Clyde I kept getting flashbacks of the journey to Broken Hill three years ago where our son Shane died, leaving us with two daughters, the same as Jan and Paul. I’ll leave you to imagine the rest, but Jan died peacefully with her family around her bedside.
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Me, Nell, and Jan holding Trish. This is the last day in the flat at Ernest Street Crows Nest. Jan has been living with us. We've been packing all day, ready for the removalists to arrive. Barry has been transferred to a 'one-man' police station at Balldale. We've never seen the place. We will arrive at the 100-year-old weatherboard police residence in 115 degree heat. In the back seat of our battered green Morris Oxford Trish, the soles of her feet blistered after stepping on the footpath at the Howlong Police Station, is wedged between the cage holding Tweetie our budgerigar and the cardboard box in which our cat Tinker, has yowled all the way in her vet-induced stupor. As Barry opens the back door to lift Trish out, Tinker smashes through her prison, streaks across the ten-acre paddock and was never seen again.
Jan and me at Higgins 1989. Madge is ill. I take ten days off work and stay with Jan.
You could call it a vigil.
RIP Jan
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