The poster girl I was proud to call my Big Sister

MY FATHER Eric was as pleased as Punch when Shirley, his first child, was born — so much so that he put a notice in the local paper that same day. He was even prouder when his employers at the Liverpool Savings Bank launched a new children’s savings account and needed a baby to appear on the advertisements.

At just a few months old, Shirley was a poster girl.

The ads showed her splashing in the bath, and I always wonder how many new accounts she was responsible for.

To celebrate her new fame, the bank took Mum and Dad to a posh tearoom, where the little starlet pulled the tablecloth off the table.

Shirley, our sister Carole and I grew up in a very loving and solid family — but against the backdrop of war.

Shirley always remembered that Carole’s fifth birthday was on the day war broke out, September 1, 1939.

They went out to get ice cream while our mother was organising the party and Shirley proudly told a lady out walking her dog that it was her little sister’s birthday.

She didn’t understand at the time why the lady greeted her with such a sad smile. Our father was duly called up, first with postings in the UK — the family went with him — and latterly in India, where he remained until the end of hostilities.

Banking was very much in the family. My father went on to become a bank manager and I joined him at the Liverpool Savings Bank.

Shirley started there, too, then joined the Bank of England. Only sister Carole bucked the trend — she became a Tiller Girl and a Butlins Redcoat.

It was while Shirley was on holiday on Jersey during the Fifties that she met her future husband, Irwin.

They married in 1956 and had three children, Melvyn, Nicolas and Virginia.

They settled in Kent and Irwin worked at Tate & Lyle, while Shirley did various part-time jobs, but the focus was always on her family.

She was never happier than when she had the whole clan around her, especially her grandchildren and greatgrandchildren.

She first had cancer diagnosed about seven years ago. Chemotherapy was initially successful, but the disease returned.

She lost her hair, but dealt with it in a very positive ‘Shirley fashion’, making light of the problem and buying a wig.

I last saw her in the hospice the day before she died and I was so honoured when her family asked me to do the eulogy at her funeral.

I was proud to have called her my Big Sis.

Shirley Bragg, nee Pettigrew, born November 26, 1932, died March 31, 2018, aged 85.