Today it is my sad honour to conduct the funeral of the mother of a good friend of mine.  Although all mum’s are different, it is often the same words that are repeated. Loving, giving, resilient, a shoulder to cry on… We can take these things for granted and then, one day, we are no longer granted that luxury.

I dreamt about my own mum last night. It is not uncommon. She lived in a treehouse and I went to visit her. It was strangely vivid, just like my mum was. So, in honour of my own mum, around the third anniversary of her final goodbye and, in honour of Diane and her lovely family and her mum who “had a smile that could light up a room”, I have dug out the eulogy I presented on that day in April 2016.

If you knew my mum I hope this will bring back memories. If you didn’t then perhaps it will make you feel as though you did.

Larger than Life!

“My mum was often larger than life.

And she was always larger than my dad.

One of the many things Reverend Steer told us  was that today needed to be all about mum. It had to be everything she would want. What she didn’t want was people laughing at her funeral. She wanted mourning not mirth. And now I’ve gone and made you laugh.

I’m not going to apologise for that. You see, the way I look at it, we have two choices. We can choose to be sad that she is gone or we can choose to be happy that she was here. I am planning to choose the second option and I hope you will choose to join me.

I did have some problems when I started writing this tribute. It wasn’t that I didn’t have enough material, there was plenty of that, it was something far more practical. I wasn’t sure what terminology to use. You see, although she was mum to Stuart, Peter and me, she was a wife to my dad, a nanny to Matt and Nathan, a mother-in-law to Jenny, Tracy and Allison, a sister to Ern, a sister-in-law to some of you, an aunt to many of you and a friend to all of you. I then figured that it wouldn’t matter what I called her as the words I used could only be describing one person.

Don’t die a copy…

One of mum’s favourite sayings – and she had quite a few – was “you were born an original, make sure you don’t die a copy”. She certainly didn’t do that.

Mum was born in 1938 which made her 77 when she died. This isn’t old. Not by today’s standards, but she fitted a huge amount of happiness, warmth and love into those decades and, I truly believe, that when she felt unable and too unwell to be the force of nature that she had always been, then she was ready to leave us. If she couldn’t be centre stage any more then she certainly wasn’t going to be the supporting act. Mum, as you will know, always did things on her terms.

I don’t want to make this into a chronological trawl through her life. I don’t want to point out milestones and timelines for offices, shops and factories where she worked or houses and places that she lived. These are just things people do. It’s what people are that really matters and that’s what I want to focus on and remember today.

Mum was contrary, caring and kind.

She could also be feisty, particularly in her younger days. Although she once told me that she wouldn’t have to argue if only people would just agree with her in the first place…

She had so much charisma that, as a shy child and an even shyer teenager, I would watch her with awe and admiration in the faint hope that some of it might spill over onto me.

She was the type of person who could radiate energy and warmth and people would respond to this and gravitate towards her. Possibly without even knowing why they were doing so. She loved people who made her laugh and she made other people laugh. Especially if she thought it would make them feel better.

“but will I be able to swim?”

For most women a mastectomy would be pretty devastating and the surgeon was probably feeling nervous about breaking the news of the radical operation to his patient. He needn’t have worried. Rather than all the normal questions a worried cancer sufferer might ask, mum simply said “but will I be able to swim?” Of course you’ll be able to swim Mrs Terry, he gratefully reassured her. “That’s good” she said “because I couldn’t swim before”.

Funnily enough she finally learnt to swim when she was well into her sixties. If mum wanted to do something then she would do it. And if she didn’t then she wouldn’t. It was as simple as that.

Mum was never the type of person to utter the words “I don’t know” or “I don’t mind”. She always knew her own mind. And things were very black and white.

She didn’t like watching the news. She thought pansies were a waste of garden. She would never wear beige. And, for some reason, she took against Zoe Ball and Gloria Hunniford.

There were a lot of things she didn’t like but plenty of things that she loved.

She loved to dream; she loved films, parties, dancing, Christmas, music, her friends, her children, long conversations, holidays. My dad.

I need to talk about her relationship with my dad because it was the foundation that her life was built upon. This would have been the sixtieth year they had spent together and, like all couples, there were ups and downs. Sickness and health. Poverty and wealth. I’m not disputing that there might have been the odd argument or disagreement. You might have heard some of them… But when the chips were down they stuck together and one of the things I admired so much about them both was their resilience and optimism. My mum had no room for regrets or self-doubt. You always had to make the best of what you had and she always did.

Dad wore the trousers. Mum told him which ones to wear…

Where their relationship and our family were concerned though, my dad always wore the trousers. It was just that my mum always told him which ones to wear.

My mum also loved London and was intensely proud of being a Londoner. Nonetheless they moved to Thetford in 1963 in order to make a better future for their young family and, although she was horribly homesick for a long time, she did what she always did and made the very best of life. Making some lifelong friends and creating some very special memories for us all.

In fact it was to Thetford that I brought some of my Army friends back in 1982. I had forgotten all about it but lots of people have been in touch over these past few weeks with their kind words and memories and one of them told me that she always remembers the first time she met my mum. In her vivid recollection the room was full of light from the recently installed patio doors and mum was wearing a brightly coloured dress. She had made cakes and prepared more food than any of us could possible eat. And she was laughing. I remember thinking, said my friend, what a lovely, happy childhood you must have had. She was right. We did.

It was difficult choosing a piece of music for this occasion. Mum loved all types of music and it was hard to pinpoint one particular song to identify with her. She loved Frank Sinatra and Johnnie Ray. She liked Motown and Abba, rock ‘n’ roll and country. She liked music she could dance to and she even liked the sound of my dad crooning in the bath. However, after much discussion, we chose You Light Up My Life because that was what she said that we did to her and it was definitely what she did for us.

I hope, as you listen to this, you will be filled with the personal happy memories that you have and I hope that we can all take comfort in the happiness she brought to us. Her personal light will never diminish in our memories.”