Local News

Centenarian’s enduring love story

16 July 2026
This content originally appeared on Trinidad Guardian.
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Se­nior Mul­ti­me­dia Re­porter

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At 100, Eloise Seales still trea­sures the night she found the love of her life.

As she cel­e­brat­ed her 100th birth­day on Tues­day sur­round­ed by chil­dren, grand­chil­dren and great-grand­chil­dren, Seales told Guardian Me­dia that one mem­o­ry stood out above all the oth­ers.

Smil­ing and danc­ing with her fam­i­ly, Seales re­called the chance en­counter that led to her mar­ry­ing her hus­band, Leonard Seales, a hand­some sol­dier, 83 years ago.

Speak­ing at San Fer­nan­do City Hall, where rel­a­tives gath­ered to mark the mile­stone, Seales smiled as she re­count­ed how a rou­tine walk home from a church meet­ing changed the course of her life for­ev­er.

She was just 17 years old.

Re­call­ing the sto­ry, Seales said a woman she had be­friend­ed had en­cour­aged her to call out when­ev­er she passed the house at night.

“One night I called out as usu­al, but she wasn’t home,” Seales said. “In­stead, a young gen­tle­man came out and said his moth­er wasn’t there.”

The young man, a sol­dier, was head­ing out but de­cid­ed in­stead to ac­com­pa­ny the teenag­er on her walk home.

“He took me home, but he didn’t know ex­act­ly where I lived,” she said with a laugh.

A few days lat­er, he re­turned, knocked on the fam­i­ly’s door and in­tro­duced him­self. Seales in­tro­duced him to her par­ents and her many younger sib­lings.

Al­though he was lat­er post­ed away with the mil­i­tary, he nev­er for­got her.

By Christ­mas, he re­turned with his moth­er to vis­it the fam­i­ly. In Jan­u­ary, he for­mal­ly wrote to her par­ents ask­ing for per­mis­sion to mar­ry her.

“In those days, once you brought a gen­tle­man home, he had to stick to his word,” Seales said. “My grand­fa­ther had been a po­lice­man.”

True to his promise, the cou­ple mar­ried in 1944, when she turned 18.

Life was sim­ple, she said, but filled with com­mit­ment and hard work. Her hus­band was sta­tioned at Pi­ar­co and of­ten rode his bi­cy­cle long dis­tances to vis­it home.

“Peo­ple were nev­er lazy like now,” she said. “The young peo­ple to­day are very lazy.”

Al­though she lost Leonard in 1983, Seales said she nev­er for­got his love.

Look­ing back over a cen­tu­ry, Seales be­lieves one of the biggest dif­fer­ences be­tween then and now was the re­spect peo­ple showed each oth­er.

“When your grand­par­ents told you some­thing, that was it. Chil­dren re­spect­ed their el­ders,” she said.

The el­dest daugh­ter in a fam­i­ly of nine, Seales has watched her fam­i­ly grow across four gen­er­a­tions.

She is now the proud ma­tri­arch of 17 grand­chil­dren, 26 great-grand­chil­dren and one great-great-grand­child.

De­spite reach­ing the re­mark­able mile­stone, she said she re­mains grate­ful for good health. Apart from di­a­betes, which de­vel­oped on­ly in re­cent years, she has avoid­ed ma­jor ill­ness­es.

Asked her se­cret to longevi­ty, Seales said her day be­gins long be­fore sun­rise.

“I get up around three o’clock every morn­ing,” she said. “I bathe, then I have my med­i­ta­tion and I do my ex­er­cis­es.”

Raised in the Catholic faith, Seales cred­its prayer and her re­la­tion­ship with God for sus­tain­ing her through­out life.

Grow­ing up dur­ing the Sec­ond World War, she re­mem­bers food short­ages af­fect­ing many fam­i­lies, but her fa­ther en­sured they nev­er went hun­gry.

“He had land where he plant­ed food, and we al­ways had fowls, ducks and hens,” she said.

As fam­i­ly mem­bers gath­ered to cel­e­brate her cen­tu­ry of life, Seales de­scribed the oc­ca­sion as feel­ing much like Christ­mas, her favourite time of year.

“I used to pre­pare for Christ­mas from Sep­tem­ber,” she said, re­call­ing the cakes she baked for wed­dings and spe­cial oc­ca­sions.

“This hun­dredth birth­day is just like prepar­ing for Christ­mas.”

Asked what she wished for af­ter reach­ing such an ex­tra­or­di­nary mile­stone, Seales’ an­swer was sim­ple.

“I just want to live peace­ful­ly and praise my God,” she said. “He is the Cre­ator. When He is ready for me, He will know.”

Mo­ments lat­er, sur­round­ed by gen­er­a­tions of de­scen­dants singing “Hap­py Birth­day,” Seales danced and smiled, still hold­ing close the mem­o­ries of the young sol­dier who walked her home one evening and changed her life for­ev­er.