End of an era

It’s been a while and, for those of you who read this drivel regularly, you’ll have guessed why. We lost Mary on the 8th of September. We buried her, bless her, yesterday. In between C and I have been rushing about sorting executor type duties, which includes dear Mary’s many possessions. We think we are on top of it, and have tried to be as sensitive as we can be, not only with Mary’s stuff, but also the feelings of those who loved her. It has not been easy … neither was arranging the funeral, which required some delicacy. But it’s done now and I think we managed to look after Mary with sympathy and care, both during her final weeks, but also by way of send off. 

It is fair to say we’re both a bit drained (although we did manage three nights in Pembrokeshire mid-September, which helped). Now, and a big hurrah for this, we are off to Spain on Wednesday. Everything we can do here is done and our next job is to clear the house, which will do in early December. That gives us up to 7 weeks away, which includes a week with Bex, Steven and Henry – they fly into Barcelona for half term. Yippee!

Finally, before I leave you with my eulogy for Mary which I read at the funeral (please don’t feel the need to read it, but if you do, you’ll understand why we loved her quite so much), I have to report that I’m on Chapter 5 of book 9 in the Sam Green series. Plan is still to finish draft one by Christmas, but I am behind.

I’ll try and pick up the posting pace of this, now we have less on our plate.

Keep safe!

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Mary Pagan – a note of thanksgiving

Mary. Where do you start?

She was a pre-war baby, brought up on a farm in Dorset. One of her favourite anecdotes was about her birthday: 11th December 1936. Her father told her, ‘it was the same day that King Edward VIIIth abdicated – the man knew what was coming.’ Having got to know Mary, I think he may have had a point.

Like any of us, Mary’s childhood shaped her. She spoke of an austere time. Toys were non-existent and her father made her a dolls’ house out of spare wood and cardboard. Food was what was grown in the garden. They ate a lot of eggs from their chickens.  

She went to school at St Swithins and, on leaving, you’d probably best describe her life thus far as ‘sheltered’. However, always with a sense of duty, as a young adult Mary joined the WRAC. I think it’s fair to say that life took off at that point. We were often regaled of life in the barrack room with ‘her girls’. Of managing some pretty complicated women, themselves experiencing life for the first time – I don’t think I need to elaborate further.

But I might. Here are a few lines from a letter home dated 30 June 1957. 

… (I read a couple of sentences from one of Mary’s letters here)

I think, though, Mary’s most absorbing story is travelling with a pal to the south of France in an open top MGA. To Antibes. And, wait for it, to a party where one of the guests was Noel Coward. 

Am I painting a picture here?

Life changed tack, of course it did when, in Cyprus, Mary met Archie. She had already turned down an offer of marriage from a rakish cavalry officer when she was stationed at Bovington. There, in an all-male mess she stoically attended dinner even if the presence of a woman at the table encouraged ‘carrumphing’ from the male officers … and the odd offer of a blissful future as cavalry officer’s wife.

Cyprus, though, was altogether different. 

Archie was the mess’ senior living-in officer. An attractive, untouchable, major. A thespian, a wit and a very intelligent man. Mary bagged him. The romance wasn’t necessarily whirlwind, but it was conducted in utmost secrecy. 

At a formal dinner when the romance was well beyond blossoming, Mary was chatting with a male officer. Archie joined them. ‘Archie,’ said the officer. ‘Have you met Lieutenant Mary Hancock.’ There was a pause. After which Archie offered his hand and said, ‘No, I don’t think I have.’ 

On marriage Mary became a dutiful Army wife. What followed was a series of postings to Belgium, France and Germany, and back to the UK. The role of Army wife isn’t to be understated. You are an unofficial social worker to the wives of the soldiers your husband is responsible for. You are constantly out at events, and you are always arranging the next supper party … against which you are judged. On the plus side Mary’s French improved and a love of Paris ensued; Claire and I have been lucky enough to accompany Mary there twice in recent years.

To be clear, though, Mary was never ‘a wife of’. She was always, indubitably, her own woman.

Pause

They, Archie, Mary and now Adrian, arrived at Hillside Lodge in 1972. Archie left the military and became a civil servant; Adrian went to Chaterhouse. And that’s when I got know Mary … and Archie and Adrian; they, very generously, offered to hold Claire’s and my wedding-reception in their garden. 

Pause

Adrian was everything to Mary. She did her best to give him all he needed to get on. Charterhouse was recognised as amongst the best education in the country and Mary worked tirelessly to help make that happen …

You’ll know her as a fabulous florist. She worked at Rosemary’s in Godalming arranging the flowers for countless weddings and events across the southeast. She was up marquee poles, womanhandling heavy pedestals and rushing to meet deadlines so she could then attend a Chaterhouse function. She did the flowers for Wimbledon fortnight. And I don’t mean as an assistant. She was in charge. And she worked for the famous caterer Jean Alexander in heighty locations such as St James Palace.

That ‘rush’, was Mary … all over. Where you and I would give time to get places, and complete jobs, Mary fitted something else in. When you were with Mary you wouldn’t get to Godalming station – off to see a show, say – and arrive 15 minutes early to catch a cup of coffee. You met the 11.05 at 11.03, having popped into the museum to pass on a message about the recent delivery of greeting cards. And you could never ‘just go and see a show’. You did a gallery and then caught a bite. There were no gaps. Not in Mary’s life. Ever.

The Godalming flower club remained central to Mary’s life. She was a founder member, setting it up in 1972 and later as an inspiring, three term Chairman and President. She opened Hillside Lodge’s garden to the club, organised five highly successful flower festivals, countless themed evenings and many cream teas … fundraising as she did. It is noteworthy that she is the club’s only honorary life member.

Then there was the Royal Signals Association. In 1993 Mary and Archie, along with their dear friend Noel Moss, relaunched the Aldershot Branch. Mary was an original committee member, but later took on the role of branch secretary … getting the men in order – quite right – and, and I quote, ‘producing immaculate minutes’. Beyond the routine she also helped with branch lunches – flower arrangements on the tables, of course – running raffles with the old soldiers, and generally driving up attendance. 

Are you getting the picture? 

And I haven’t mentioned Godalming museum yet. Mary was an extremely dedicated volunteer at the museum for 25 years – her main responsibility was the museum’s shop. She kept costs down by getting to know the suppliers really well. She was utterly reliable and did things properly. She looked after the other volunteers, sending them all Christmas cards and, for the annual stocktake, she provided a buffet lunch for everyone, and a birthday cake for the eldest member of the team. She worked at every museum Christmas stall in the High Street – standing all day, often in the bitter cold. She attended trustee meetings, and worked tirelessly to support museum lectures, the summer lunches and other events. But, mostly, she will be remembered, I quote, as a true and loyal friend, whose acts of kindness were so much part of her.    

But … that was all work. And we all know what Mary’s actual favourite thing was? Bridge, of course.

Mary belonged to the Brook bridge club. She was an avid member rarely missing a Monday duplicate bridge night with her partner and dear friend Yvonne. It is accurate to say they were fab. Mary was an intelligent, wildly competitive, but cheeky player, always prepared to take a risk to try to come top of the weekly league tables – which they often did. Yvonne fondly remembers, ‘I’m doing this partner, assuming you’re still going to give me a lift home’, as Mary made some reckless call. Bridge could be three times a week, often at Hillside Lodge, where the dolly trolly – if you know, you know – was in attendance, resplendent with home made cakes and sandwiches. 

She loved bridge.  

Mary lost the great man Archie in 2000. It was a devastating blow to her, and to all of us who knew the charming, patient, kind and intelligent man. In spite of this, and perhaps because of it, her whirlwind existence continued …

… that was until she, and we, lost Adrian in 2007. That is a whole new chapter and I have tried to find a positive.

Mary continued with her life, for which a huge bravo. And we – a good number of us here – were introduced to Adrian’s delightful friends. What do you do when you lose a son and want to hold deeply onto his memory? 

You have a party of course. Every year. Without fail. Silver service, with a grand main meal and countless puddings. There was always wine. And there was always banter. And there was always fun. I was, many of you were, privileged to be invited to the annual bash. It was hilarious, whilst always fondly remembering Adrian.

Some of Adrian’s friends are here today. Tasha tells me, ‘Mary had an insatiable curiosity for the world. None of us, Adrian’s friends, could have predicted how special she would become to us all. There was a remarkable magical and radiant love for and from Mary that emerged after Adrian left us. She, Mary, ended up with lots of extra offspring.’ 

For those of Adrian’s friends who haven’t made it, have a guess what? There’s a party for Mary, and Adrian, in December. Yippee! 

Oh, hang on, let’s not forget Michael Beasley, a friend of Adrian’s from Imperial, who without being asked offered to take today’s service. He’s a Bishop you know!

So, Mary, for Adrian’s friends who are now our friends … thank you.

You may have noticed that I haven’t mentioned Mary’s brother, Tom, or his wider family. After Archie and Adrian, Tom and his family were everything to Mary. And Lucy, one of Mary’s great nieces, will eloquently fill the gaps I have missed in a short while.

On Archie’s side, I know that Mary’s passing has hurt David, Archie’s nephew, greatly. He has written a lovely, hilariously cheeky – unsurprising for those who know him – missive, for which we don’t have time, nor maybe the ears, to dwell. But I thought I’d share this: he recounted an early major event in his life which deserved celebrating. The scene is Hillside Lodge. I quote: ‘My mother walked in and put on the kettle “Let’s have a nice cup of tea, shall we?”. There was a pause. Mary and Archie had twelve bottles of ice cold champagne in their fridge, and they popped one open immediately. For that alone, thanks Mary, thanks to both of you.’

Tori, Mary’s goddaughter who will read the lesson in a second, was, in many ways, Mary’s surrogate daughter – the background to which in parts is long and sad. When penning this, I naturally asked for her thoughts. I paraphrase a little here: ‘in many ways she, Mary, was the ultimate parent and spiritual guide: an unwavering loving presence who I always knew I could turn to and who never judged me. She actively nurtured my creativity. She was generous, spirited and mischievous, and I feel blessed to have had her as my godmother.’

Mischievous? 

‘Well behaved women never make history.’ You’ve all seen that mantra on top of Mary’s fridge, right? Well, we all know Mary was impeccably well behaved. Victorianesque in a way. But that glint? 

Towards the end, when she was very poorly and hardly speaking, there were a group of us bedside discussing middle names. Mine’s John. Amanda, her carer, gave hers. After we’d all contributed, Claire asked, almost rhetorically, ‘I wonder what yours is, Mary.’ With eye’s remaining shut as they had been all day, and clearer than she had been for a couple of weeks, she said, ‘Not tonight Josephine!’ Goodness, we laughed.   

So we’ve heard of service. Of hard work and ingrained resilience. But Mary had another skill. She looked after everyone. Take Jim the gardner. Doreen, Mary’s long term helper and cleaner. Steve, a professional cabinet maker and the man who fixed everything at Hillside Lodge. These three weren’t casual staff to Mary. They were long term, decades-long, friends, who happen to help at the same time. Mary looked after them. She cherished them. And, in return, they her. Steve writes, ‘My life has been greatly enriched by knowing Mary – she became a true friend’.

And of course, let’s not forget The Drive. Her close neighbour and friend, Nicola also writes, ‘Mary was a vibrant force in our community, who could turn any occasion into a celebration; she was a curator of joy and had a knack for bringing people together … meticulous planning, down to the last teaspoon.’ I love that last phrase. 

You may all know that Mary was diagnosed with Parkisnon’s just over a decade ago. That didn’t stop her. Just two years ago Claire, me and Mary flew to Italy for dearest Oliver’s, Mary’s godson’s, wedding. Ten days. Three cities. Parkinson’s. And a four-day wedding. And, little did we know at the time, we all had covid. Mary outlasted us. It would be inaccurate to say she danced until dawn. But that’s the way we’d like to remember it.

In early summer Mary was diagnosed with a brain tumour. She was ordered to bed and we all settled down for the final chapter of her extraordinary story. 

Enter Luisa and Amanda. Luisa was Mary’s long-term cleaner and helper. And Amanda had been with Mary for over a year, helping her cope with Parkinson’s. They, and Claire and I, set about providing the appropriate care. 

We, Claire and I, had a vision of what that might look like. But Amanda and Luisa saw something different. Such was the bond between them and Mary, they, to all intents and purposes, provided a 24-hour, bedside vigil. They both slept with Mary. For almost three months. That wasn’t in any contract we had set up; it’s what they wanted to do. 

Luisa tells me, ‘being with Mary was a joy; kind, caring and always interested in what was happening in my life.’ 

Amanda, ‘it was an honour and a privilege …’

And I think it’s fair to say that by the end Mary loved Amanda, and that was reciprocated. There was always laughter; and there was always trust.  As such, and on behalf of all of us, I’d like to publicly thank Amanda for the relentless love and care she provided for Mary in those final months. Life would have been immeasurably more complicated for us and just as distressful for Mary without you. Thank you Amanda. 

Mary died gracefully in her sleep. In her home, with a view over her garden; constantly badgered by a stream of visitors: Paul and Jonathan, Jennifer Sibbald, niece Deborah and her hounds, nephew Johnathan, nephew David and many many more. She was charming to the end. And it was, it is, Claire’s and my absolute privilege to have known her and, similarly, to have been with her at the end. We will both miss her desperately.