My mother, Catherine Rowntree, who has died aged 76, followed in the footsteps of her mother and two sisters to become a nurse.
As a ward sister at Scarborough general hospital in North Yorkshire, in 1984 she set up one of the first stroke rehabilitation units in Britain. In 1991, she opened a nursing home in Scarborough with a specialist facility for young people with neurological conditions.
Cate was born in Pontefract, West Yorkshire, the youngest of four children of Jane (nee Tomkinson), a nurse and latterly a justice of the peace, and Robert Egan, a coalminer, councillor, and twice mayor of Pontefract. She attended St Joseph’s RC secondary school and trained at Pontefract general infirmary, qualifying in 1968.
A few months earlier, while celebrating her 21st birthday, she had met David Woodhead, then a personnel officer in a glass factory. They married the following year and had two children: me and my sister, Hilary.
My mother worked as a ward sister at Pontefract general infirmary and, from 1973 to 1977, she and my dad ran the Greyhound pub in Pontefract, renaming it the Tateshalion in 1975. In 1977, they bought a cafe and guest house in Scarborough, and my mum put her baking skills to good use. But their marriage was foundering and they separated in 1980 – my dad returned to Pontefract, and Catherine got a job as a nurse at St Thomas’s hospital in Scarborough. My dad died in 1990.
Life was challenging for a single mother in the 1980s. But when her mother came to live nearby, Cate had a regular babysitter, and often went to the local folk club. It was there, in 1983, that she met Neil Rowntree, a retired jockey who ran an antiques shop. The following year she joined Scarborough general hospital.
While on honeymoon in 2003, the day after Cate and Neil were married, my mother had a stroke on the shores of Lake Garda, Italy. Her career ended abruptly, and she lost her characteristic vim and vigour.
In 2016, looking for a fresh start, the couple moved to Figueiró dos Vinhos in Leiria, Portugal. But disaster struck. Their new house and all their possessions were destroyed in the forest fires of 2017. As they rebuilt their lives, they developed a deep connection to Portugal, and made good friends. My mother baked her way into their hearts.
Later, isolated by the Covid pandemic, her health deteriorated rapidly. She was an enthusiastic nurse but an unwilling patient.
She is survived by Neil, Hilary and me, and her grandchildren, Lily, Stanley and Elliot. Her sisters, Margaret and Pat, and brother, Michael, predeceased her.
