I wrote this eulogy to deliver at my aunt's funeral, which was today at Vinters Park Crematorium. She died on May 1, 2012.
Lily was a lovely, lovely lady.
That's what Paul Chisholm, a friend of
my father's from New Zealand wrote about Aunt Lily after he heard the news of her
death. Paul met Lily and her husband Joe Parkes in London through my
mother and father in the 1950s.
Lily and my mother had met in 1947 when
they were working as maids in a rooming house in the Holland Park
area of London.
The two were like sisters and as young
women were almost inseparable. Lily often talked about how my mother
would mysteriously procure a delicious punnet of strawberries and
block of ice cream even before rations were lifted in post-war
Britain.
My mother often tells tales of sitting
“up in the gods” at many West End theatre productions, thanks to
free tickets from producer Bill Linnet, for whom they each worked in
home services at different times.
Although my mother moved to Canada in
1968, she and Lily remained in constant contact over the next 43
years by post, telephone and many transatlantic visits.
To my sister Tracey and I, Auntie Lily
was magical – an angel, a fairy and a friend all rolled into one –
her unconditional love most prized throughout both childhood and
adulthood.
It's unlikely anyone would contest Paul
Chisholm's view of Lily – a kind and gentle person who loved
flowers, animals, children – and even adults.
No doubt the patience acquired during
her years working as a telephonist and supervisor with the post
office helped give her the ability to put anyone at ease in an
instant.
Auntie Lily's calm determination gave
her the fortitude she needed to at times carry the weight of working,
maintaining a household and looking after Joe Parkes, who suffered
from tuberculosis and at times was unable to work.
She often put her own interests second
in order to help others. Not only did she and Joe warmly welcome my
Canadian father Carl when he and my mother became a couple and then
married in 1959, but she also extended her friendship to my father's
colleagues, friends and family who came to England.
For instance, my Canadian Aunt Bettie
gave birth to her eldest daughter in 1964 in Little Hadham, some 40
miles from London where her husband, my father's brother, was working
as a teacher. As a foreigner, she wasn't expecting any visitors, but
Lily made the trek from London more than once to see her. Bettie and
Walter never forgot her kindness.
Perhaps one of Lily's most remarkable
attributes was that despite the hardships she endured, including the
loss of Joe, she never became bitter. Maybe partly because of the
great support she received after his death from Joe's sister Doris,
her brother-in-law Cecil and her brother Fred.
Throughout her 90-year-long life, she
continued to develop important, meaningful relationships, including
the one she had with Rob Tagg, whom she married in 1978, almost 10
years after Joe's death.
With Rob she gained a step-daughter, Lynne, and two step-grandchildren, Nick and Melanie. The
all-important Prince – her much-loved dog -- also came with that
marriage, which unfortunately ended four years later when Rob passed
away. Some 30 years after that, Melanie and her husband Lee produced
baby Sienna.
But there was another side to Lily –
her resilience.
Her self-professed “Foremanism” –
a playful reference to her maiden name and a strong streak of
independence she considered part of her genetic make up – could
also come into play.
Among the caring friends and neighbours
who looked after her in her latter years, it is Dennis Edwards who
tells the story of returning home from work one day to see her
dangerously perched on the roof of her car port blithely painting her
window frames – already well into her 70s.
His concern made her more aware about
when she did her chores, and she would always giggle as she undertook
a dangerous task, saying, “I hope Dennis isn't watching.”
Lily's legacy is the kindness, love,
helpfulness and friendship from which we all so fortunately
benefitted and which brought us here together today.
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