Ali White’s Bit

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Isobel.

When I think of Isobel, I see her first in the early 1970s. The Belfast Whites have all piled into the car, and driven up to Coleraine to see the McDonaghs. The welcome is warm, and Isobel is smiling. ‘Come in, come in!’ The table is heaving with great food. Lots of talk and laughter, a little pause while food and family is blessed, and then we set ourselves to it. I remember a hatch which opened from the kitchen. Through it, more good things kept on appearing, and then more, and more. I remember other days up on the beach at Portstewart, stripy windbreaks billowing, tartan flasks of tea, squiggling swimsuits on under flapping towels, sandy socks and sandals. Isobel there, and Donald. Always warm. Always welcoming. A caravan holiday with my first and last fishing adventure, and Patch the dog running circles around us all.

As years passed, I would hear Isobel’s name mentioned with great respect and affection by people who had been to Corrymeela with her, or who were involved in the Hospice, or who had just been lucky enough to encounter her at some time when they had needed her in their lives. I started to realise how very well, how very lovingly, and how very selflessly, Isobel has lived. Yet when I meet her, I’m always struck by how she wears her innate goodness lightly, with humour and grace.

Happy Birthday Isobel. I hope you have a wonderful day, and a happy happy year.

Love, Ali. XOX

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