Gone

The freezing wind drove me indoors to the pile of clean washing and I spent a productive morning dashing away with the smoothing iron (you'd have to have been around in the 50s for that one probably). The cold air is coming from the SW, the prevailing wind direction, so that means most of the lower half of the country will be suffering as I am. Which gives me a little comfort. But I have so many things to plant, including a tray of a dozen cowslip plants which Sammy got for me at 40p a pop. That compares with £1.90 at the garden centre, ridiculous. They will add to the much needed ground cover at the bottom of the garden where my battle against weeds is constant. David showed me what he has done so far in his tiny garden down the lane, and it is impressive. But then he has actually worked as a gardener and really knows his stuff. Whereas I go to a garden centre and buy what I like the look of, he carefully plans what will go with what, and look good where. He took a few things from my front garden, grasses, fiery euphorbias and some spotted things and already they look wonderful. Luckily he likes to share his knowledge so that's good.

I set off early for Judy's funeral expecting a packed church, and I was right. Getting there well before anyone else, surely a first for me, I picked up an order of service card and immediately felt overwhelmed with emotion. Her picture on the back page, such a good likeness, and the choice of hymns, were all too much for me, and I retreated to the car for a while. When I returned the church was filling up, and seeing David sitting alone in the front pew was awful. Sophie and Caroline, Judy's daughters greeting people on the door, urged me to go and talk to him so I did. I put my arm around his shoulders and talked quietly to him. He's a very emotional man, and his sadness was almost unbearable. "I miss her so much," he said. "I know you do," I told him, and hugged him tighter. His five sons were all there and one of them took over from me. Judy's nephew James read a eulogy that the family had jointly written, and one anecdote was typical of her zest for life. Taking her mother on holiday to Norfolk for her 80th birthday, Sophie was appalled to see her climbing a tree. "Get down from there at once, what on earth are you doing." she called out. "I wanted to see if I still could," replied the impulsive matriarch. She lived her life to the full, took everything in her stride, and always looked on the bright side. The words might be trite, cliched even, but they are true. She will be so very sadly missed.