Christine Lee - The Midwifes Sister: The Story of Call The Midwifes Jennifer Worth by her sister Christine

My mother at her sister Doriss wedding, sitting on the front row, the second on the left.

From a very young age I did everything with my sister, Jennifer. We had huge freedom and enjoyed great adventures together, just the two of us. I dont ever remember our parents being anxious about our exploits or trying to stop us from going off on our own, exploring. They encouraged us to be strong and independent and probably knew little of what we got up to. We more or less did as we liked.

I was born on February 1, 1938 and brought up in Amersham, in Buckinghamshire. My father was sent off to register my birth, under instructions from my mother that I was to be called Rosemary Elsie. He preferred Christine Mary, registered me as such, and Mother had little choice but to accept it. Christine was soon shortened by most people to Chris, although my father always called me Christabel. By the time I came along, Jennifer was a determined child of two and a half. One of my earliest memories when I was perhaps three years old was of us going for cycle rides as a family; my father in front, me on the back of his bike, then Mummy, and behind her, Jennifer. Seeing my sister pedalling like a mad thing, I felt very proud to be sitting in some comfort behind my father. We went for walks, too, which I loved and hated in turn, since my legs were shorter than theirs. I would struggle on, often arriving at our destination to find half the picnic had already gone.

We often went to the seaside, to the house at Jaywick Sands, which my father had bought at the beginning of the war. He had an open-top car and Jennifer and I would stand on the back seat regardless of the weather. Wind and rain were nothing to us. We laughed, tipped back our heads, and caught droplets of rain in our mouths as we sped along. In the 1940s, there were few other cars on the roads and no seat belts or laws about children being strapped in and cars did not go at the speeds that we drive at today. We found it exhilarating. If the rain came down, it was not my fathers habit to stop the car. He drove on, and we sang at the top of our voices. Jennifer and I loved Two Little Girls in Blue from the Broadway musical of the same name: Two little girls in blue, lad / two little girls in blue / They were sisters, we were brothers / and learned to love the two / And one little girl in blue, lad / who won your Fathers heart / became your Mother / I married the other / but now we have drifted apart. We thought this very beautiful and sad at the time.

In 1942 the country was at war, but for us as a family the conflict and its horrors seemed a long way off as we escaped to our house by the sea, where friends and relations gathered during the holidays and an atmosphere of fun and goodwill prevailed. Jennifer and I would run onto the long, wide, empty beaches, braving the mountainous seas, with their huge waves; we made ever-larger sandcastles, and buried each other up to our necks in cool, damp sand. We laughed as we danced with lengths of seaweed, tossing them around, and collected exquisite shells and debris from ships, brought in on the tide. I loved catching in my hands the tiny crabs inhabiting the rock-pools and in doing this I thoroughly enjoyed the only power I ever had over my big sister, for she hated these tiny creatures, and I loved to chase her unmercifully with them. She would then reciprocate by pinning me down on the beach, and tickling the soles of my very sensitive feet. As for her own feet, Jennifer always seemed to have them bare whenever she could and even in adulthood would walk around without shoes, even on roadways. It didnt seem to bother her. She was tough.