Janet: A Life in Colour Our mum
Janet: A Life in Colour
Our mum
Mum trained young, barely more than a girl herself, learning hairdressing at Sue Ryder. At nineteen, she had me. At twenty-three, my brother.
For the next thirty years, she worked the indoor market in the town centre, and she loved it. She loved the people, loved the bustle of it, and loved being around people who all had a great time together. Thirty years is not a stop-gap; it's half a lifetime. But somewhere underneath it, the thing she'd started young as a girl never quite disappeared. She was mad about hairstyles and mad about fashion.
In the 1990s, she went back and took evening classes at Butts College in Coventry, after full days of work, because she still wanted what was a dream all those years before. That's ambition in its purest form — not the loud kind that gets applauded, but silently showing up.And then, finally, later in life than most people start anything new: Daisy's Hair Shop opened its doors. A backstreet salon in the town centre, and mum's own dream come true. We were lucky enough to work alongside her there and it truly was a memorable experience in one way or another.
Mum and I were like sisters, or best friends. Many a time was spent with tears literally rolling down our cheeks, laughing at one thing or another. We talked endlessly about clothing or hairdressing, and it never got tiring. I secured a flat next door to hers during the last four years of her life. We'd often sit up until the early hours, eating oven chips, pizza, and beans, watching Columbo or Poirot or QVC — she loved those programmes — constantly chatting and laughing hysterically about something. I'd pop round for a coffee and find she'd taken the washing machine apart, the circuit board in bits and pieces, her magnifying glasses making her eyes as big as saucers, screwdriver in hand, scratching her head. I'd respond with an open jaw, in disbelief, and then she'd start laughing uncontrollably, tears streaming down her face, saying, "Karen, I don't know how to put the damn thing back together — HELP!" And I'd be doubled over in agony from laughing so hard.Of course I couldn't put it back together either.
It’s a blessing to have had that. I've had many friendships like it throughout my life, but nothing touches the friendship of a mother and daughter. Enjoy them while you can.
Anyone who's lost a parent will understand that those simple memories are exactly the ones you miss the most — not the big, fantastical experiences, just the simple things.
She had a winning formula, and it wasn't just the styling — it was mum herself. People walked in for a haircut and colour with the stylists and left feeling like they'd been properly seen and heard, not to mention having been sold the latest best hair products.
Our mum was so much more comfortable with people than we ever were. We say this because what Janet had really was rare. People will tell you the same thing we will: she had a magical touch with people, a shine that radiated through.
She loved fashion through and through. You'd find her in Debenhams or Marks & Spencer, hunting for designer shoes, clothes, or beauty products — for work, or for dancing at the weekend. She was so funky, so stylish that she fitted right in with staff half her age on wild nights out, dancing away like she had nothing to prove and everything to enjoy.
As with all good stories, there was always a tragic side threaded through it. Janet was beautiful, enigmatic, and vulnerable, all at once — and we wish she hadn't had to carry the stressors she did. Some part of her story remains unresolved, and it unfortunately always will.
But that isn't where we want to leave her. Janet won the Festival of Arts when she was young — not once, but twice. She thought differently. She thought creatively and she ran a hair salon that had International and national publications.
In a nutshell, that was our mum.
Forever missed.
If you or someone you know is grieving, please know you are not alone. Talking to someone you trust — someone who can hold space for what you're feeling without rushing you through it — can make a real difference.
UK Bereavement & Support Helplines:
Cruse Bereavement Support – 0808 808 1677 | cruse.org.uk
The Good Grief Trust – thegoodgrieftrust.org
AtaLoss.org – ataloss.org
Sue Ryder Online Bereavement Support – sueryder.org
Samaritans – 116 123 (free, 24/7)
NHS Talking Therapies – nhs.uk/talking-therapies
Mind – 0300 123 3393 | mind.org.uk
Be gentle with yourself.
