What I am about to read is an amalgam of thoughts and memories from several family members, which I asked them to send to me and I have tried to slot them all together. The introduction comes straight from Tony.

A few words to remember my mum. Mum would not have wanted us to make too much fuss about her demise, she agreed with me that funerals are mainly for the living and make no difference to the one who has passed. She knew her time had come and she was at peace with that. She had a long and eventful life with Dad, they travelled and lived in more countries than anyone else I can think of, a life with many downs as well as ups. She had well held opinions on many matters and liked to debate them, she might not have agreed with you but she wouldn't fall out with you over them. Right up until the end she was more concerned with us all than with herself. She did not want to be a burden and kept saying so no matter how much we assured her she was not being one, an admirable and unselfish trait. She never fell out with any of us though we may well have deserved it, I certainly did.

I’d best point out that goes for me too.

Mum’s origins were pretty modest, although her father’s family had owned the Bull Hotel, Long Melford. Her school record says she was born at “The Garage, Hall St”. In her early years I think the family’s prosperity declined markedly; on her birth certificate her father’s rank reads “Hotel Manager” but her marriage certificate shows him as “Labourer”. In 1933, aged 11, she entered the Sudbury High School for Girls. Largely through the persistence of her mother (a tiny but determined lady) who pestered the village primary school headmaster to let young Edwina take the entrance exam, along with another girl also overlooked because of her lowly social status. Both passed the test, and Grandma Harris then continued to pester, this time for money to buy a uniform, etc. That harassed headmaster was George Chamberlin, and some years later my mum became his daughter in law. Mum’s best friend at the Girls’ High – and ever since – was Phyllis, whose family came to Melford in summer 1936, and I’m delighted to say she is with us today.

4 years ago, in recalling Dad’s life we majored on his career. In contrast, Mum didn’t have a career. Or did she? It’s true she left school at a younger age than he did. That was Summer 1939, and soon she was working at the Colchester telephone exchange, not exactly near home. But Grandma Harris persuaded her to find a job at Melford railway station, saving hours of travel every day, including the bike ride through the blackout to and from the bus in Sudbury. So while Dad deferred his Civil Service post to become a pilot and flew on active service over Europe, Mum’s war effort was making sure thousands of servicemen got the right trains for their postings all across the UK. Dad trained in the USA, leaving right after their honeymoon (if a week in Manchester counts as such), but Mum worked on at the station.

And so it continued really. As Tony observes, their partnership involved “different but complementary roles” – which seemed to mean Mum always had the hard grind. There were post-war privations, first as a “squatter” with baby Tony in the former US army hospital Nissen huts at Acton (where it was a struggle to keep the temperature above freezing). Then with 2 under 4s in bomb-damaged Chiswick (where she often had to leave Jane in the pram and negotiate the stairs to the 2nd floor with Tony and the shopping). The Civil Service salary at first was steady but not spectacular. Home making was harder work then than it is now, but Mum always made our house a good place to be. Her upbringing had made her a frugal character, although her school reports consistently rated her needlework and cookery as “fair” or even “not good enough”. She cooked from scratch and often with Dad’s produce from our own garden. She made many of our clothes and her own, using a hand-powered Singer (still the family), or her ever-present knitting needles. I never knew you could buy machine-knitted garments till years later. I still remember the knitted swimming trunks hanging round my knees on Cromer beach. But I don’t recall really feeling the pinch even though some other kids at school obviously had much more; some even went abroad on holiday. We stuck to staycations in Britain and often stayed with family and friends. All the rage now.

When Dad had an opportunity to work abroad things changed dramatically, but it wasn’t easy for Mum at first. He went off via Geneva and Cairo to Baghdad leaving Mum and me at home in Sheffield with a plan for us to join him the next spring, in 1967. She just had to let the house, book flights, get to Heathrow, and then set off on her first ever flight and first time abroad. With a whinging 12 year old in tow. After that the 6-day war that June, and the ensuing evacuation via Teheran was simple, and our early return to Sheffield meant she had to rent us a flat till the house was free again. The next year or two were hard for Mum as Dad was still abroad while she was stuck at home looking after that adolescent boy, but eventually she was free to join him. 

That began what looks like a golden period in Mum & Dad’s lives. For twenty years or more they visited and lived in many exotic places, generally at someone else’s expense. It was a time of rich and varied experiences. At first Mum didn’t easily fit into the typical ex-pat lifestyle but did find friends, especially amongst the Australians and other post-colonials. She joined Dad in many pastimes such as sailing and singing, and became a very proficient lawn bowls player. She got Dad involved in painting, and their work hangs on all our walls. She wrote – mainly letters to far-flung friends but also some reminiscences for UN staff publications, and one piece in the Telegraph Magazine about enduring a typhoon in Vanuatu.

Back to Tony’s comments on those complementary roles. Dad earned the money and Mum made sure it was spent wisely. She abhorred waste and profligacy but at the same time was generous where she thought it justified – which did not include the tax man. Dad drove the car, looked after the garden and did all the accounts; Mum left him to it and got on with the housework. Mum was never career minded for herself though she had many jobs over the years, not for the money but for the interest and to satisfy her work ethic. She didn't like to be idle. In her opinion she was called to look after every one else; family and friends were her priority. If she couldn’t be with you she would write, maintaining those friendships over many years and miles. When at home in Bildeston she still wrote but also phoned a good deal. In the care home she had an iPad and several family members talked to her on Facetime, especially Tony who was on about every other day In the last couple of weeks he and I have both more than once thought “must tell Mum that”, only to realise that now we can’t.

When Dad finally stopped working they began a proper, classic village retirement. Life centred round the garden, bowls, entertaining, family and village activities. And holidays. Notably cruises, on which I cannot elaborate. I don’t think they were ever bored. Bildeston is a pretty special place once you put some roots down, and Mum & Dad did just that, supporting the various local institutions – the church, B Natural, the Kings Head, the chapel, Chamberlin Hall (no relation). In turn the village became a terrific support for them during their advancing years and although they flirted with moving into Sudbury, I don’t think they could bear to leave.

That typhoon in Vanuatu was not their darkest hour because during those travelling years our sister Jane developed cancer. Over the next few years Mum spent many months caring for Jane’s 4 young children in the USA, often without Dad who was still working. And eventually they experienced what has been called “the worst loss” when Jane succumbed to the disease. 21 years later Mum’s granddaughter, our Rebecca, was also taken from the family. And then Dad. After his dementia took hold Mum was determined to look after him at home and did so single-handedly for 4 years at what must have been great personal cost. Finally, after a lifetime of self-reliance, Mum’s balance became unsteady, and following several falls in 2019 she had to leave Heddle House and go into a care home. The isolation and the dramatic change of status from the carer to the cared-for did not suit her, as I am sure it does not suit many. The timing was especially cruel. Within 4 months we were in the grip of the first lockdown, and the isolation began to wear her down. By the time she finally tested positive for Covid-19, on Boxing Day, she had already begun to give up hope of ever getting “back to normal”. The fact that she could not recuperate fully meant she did finally lose the will to survive – a will that had sustained her through 9 decades.

What was Mum like, and how will she be remembered?

As a mother. Warm, affectionate, nurturing, gentle, protective and encouraging. A home maker who just wanted us all to be happy and enjoy our banana sandwiches.

For her hatred of waste. You would say she "stepped lightly on the planet" (if you overlook her formidable carbon footprint from flying and cruising).

For her strength of will and practicality in the face of challenges.

As the hostess who bought a dishwasher only to stop dinner guests insisting they help wash up, and when she stopped doing dinner parties, put it to a new use storing fruit.

For her gregariousness, quick laugh and apparent ease with all classes of people – up to and including royalty! She was once introduced to (I think) Prince Charles who injudiciously suggested Dad did not pay income tax because he worked overseas. She sharply corrected him “he has to pay international tax”. I wonder if he still tells people that – because there is actually no such thing.

As generally content, satisfied with her life. I think Mum was something of a Stoic. She coped and carried on lovingly even through the worst of Dad’s dementia. She took life as it came and if she couldn’t control it she learnt to swim with the flow where it took her.

Oh – and she was the lady who got the better of the chap who came knocking to offer her the leftover gravel from a driveway job he and his mates had just finished nearby. She said “how much?” and he replied £3 which she accepted and made them a cuppa while they toiled in the sun. On completion the chap came for his pay and asked for considerably more than £3. Why so? “Well obviously I meant £3 per square yard.” “You never said that. You just said £3.” She wouldn’t budge, and Dad backed her up – though he did concede that if the crew wasn’t happy they could certainly retrieve their gravel so long as they left all that was there in the first place. In the end the gaffer capitulated and accepted his £3.

That, and a great deal more, was our Mum, Grandma and Great-Grandma, and we will all love her forever and miss her terribly.