A Personal Tribute
Tony has asked me to read out a few thoughts about his Mum
She disliked sad occasions and she decided that she wanted this to be a short informal service. If she was sitting at the back, and perhaps she is, she would most likely be saying “hurry up – let’s get off and have the salmon sandwiches and meringues”.
As many of you know she was renowned for her `teas’ and I am sure she will be checking we have done everything correctly and would want you all to join us after this service – that is what she would have loved.
It is not possible to describe over 80 years in a few minutes so I will just pick a few instances of her life, her character, her interests and things I will personally miss.
Some of you will know from seeing pictures of her as a young lady in Chelsea she was very striking. At the time Augusta John the painter also lived in Chelsea and wanted to paint her. However he always wanted to sleep with any girl he painted, so I have no Augusta John painting, nor fortunately am named Tony John.
Mum and Dad were married in Chelsea on 3rd September 1939, the day war was declared. The wedding was chaotic as the choir, bridesmaids, caterers etc did not arrive.
However, they were married and went to their new home for the first night of their honeymoon. Due to the panic and lack of transport a good girl friend of my Mum’s was not able to return to home outside London and so actually went with them. The next morning the air raid sirens were tested and the friend was so frightened she asked if she could come in the same bed as them.
My Dad then was able to boast for the rest of his life that he had two women in his bed on his wedding night.
Sadly widowed in 1966 she became very independent. Having earlier worked as a postmistress she later worked for the Civil Service in the Tax Office. Later she spent many years working part-time in charity shops, amusing us at the age of 80 working for Age Concern serving coffee and tea to people 15 years younger than her. She referred to the lady next door as the “old lady” when she was all of 8 months older than Mum.
She devoured the Times and Sunday Times getting exasperated that I could never hold sensible conversations with her on what was happening in the world.
Fiercely nationalistic she hated the Channel Tunnel plans. Her mother-in-law as a suffragette had chained herself to railings. If Mum had been younger I would not have been surprised to see her prostrate on the new train line at Dover.
One of her other hates was Tony Blair who she happily blamed for everything that went wrong in Britain and also just about everywhere else in the world. I believe Mr Blair rests easier in his bed since 17th September 2002.
She loved her sport right to the end, particularly rugby, athletics, football (Chelsea of course) snooker, and her beloved Wimbledon fortnight (when she watch every day). However, if England or Tim Henman started to lose she would slam the TV off and storm out to the garden and attack the weeds.
Her interest in gardening continued when she moved to Spain and here she loved her bougainvillaea, and the jacaranda and was so thrilled when she had bananas on her tree. In recognition of this, we had a small rose memorial area in part of our garden in Jesus Pobre as she loved roses so much. These roses we took with us to our Jardines del Sol apartment
Well travelled she went on a world cruise, travelled throughout Europe and visited Hong Kong and New Zealand a number of times and of course became one of the oldest emigrants when she left the UK with Chester her dog to live in Spain aged 84. It was only a shame that she did not have longer here.
My Mum and Dad had planned to retire to Spain, Sadly this never came to pass with Dad dying aged 52. However Mum did make it and last Sunday while a similar Memorial Service was being held in England I scattered her ashes and those of my dad’s here on Montgo. This in a place that overlooks the sea, the valley and the mountains in the distance. So they are now together in a beautiful and peaceful spot just 20 minutes walk from our old finca.
In closing, I would I like to thank Father Eric not only for the service but for helping Mum come back to Church here in Spain. Also to Doctor Erik who helped us all so much in a difficult time and of whom my Mum grew to be very fond.
My dad’s name was Eric and it was I know of comfort to Mum that her last priest and doctor had the same name as him.
For over 30 years Mum had a bible by her bed and often read a little each night. When we picked up this very battered copy Jo found many pieces of paper in it. One we feel Mum wanted us to find and Jo read at her service what had been copied on a piece of paper by my Mum.