My mother had an aunt who lived in France for most of her life. She was active in the resistance during the war and was caught and sent to Auschwitz. When she arrived they gave her the prison number tattoo. She worked in the camp as a nurse and when the prison guards found out she was a Jew they crossed out the original number tattoo and gave her another one. We took her to visit Auschwitz when she turned 90 (at her request - not a horrifying birthday surprise) and the museum staff had never seen two tattoos, or known that there were Jewish nurses working at the camp. She had a series of small dogs throughout her life, all of which were named Judah. When she died she was on Judah Six.
On my dad’s side he had an uncle who had a penchant for robbing post offices and banks. He used to leave getaway cars outside my grandad’s house and my dad and his sister would play in them for a few days before they’d disappear. This same uncle disappeared for years (probably banged up) and the next time we saw him was on the front of the local paper being outed as the man responsible for introducing crystal meth to County Durham.
