Tribute to Mum

27 July 2023

Mum was always dying. There were the middle-of-the-night dashes; the phone calls to work, mid-morning or mid-afternoon, mid-project or mid-speech even. And yet, despite the emergencies, she made it to the ripe old age of 97, having lived a fulfilled life – and there was nothing middling about her.

She was a force and a big presence in our lives – strong and insistent; proud and particular; forthright but thoughtful; creative yet meticulous – and a lady.

Mum was complex and full of contrast, such as offering great hospitality to Graham, me and my friends growing up. The front room at Kendal Rise on a Saturday or Sunday evening was a permanent invitation to us, and a fixture in our calendars – a welcome space for us to grow, develop and bond as young adults. And yet, if you called in on her unexpectedly, she was frequently busy and could shoo you away fairly smartish.

Mum loved family though. It was very important to her. She kept in touch with family and friends, up and down the country – and abroad. From Yorkshire to Dorset, Wales to Cambridgeshire; Switzerland, Canada, New Zealand, and Australia, she corresponded regularly, penning lovely, descriptive letters. This was her forte and she loved to write. So much so that she wrote poetry that ran to four or five volumes.

As a lady, Mum rather liked to be pampered, petted and courted. I mean, we didn’t call her ‘Your Majesty’ for nothing, did we?

Her idea of pleasure was to invite you round for tea. It was you, however, who often had to put the kettle on and fish the cakes out from the cupboard! But afternoon tea, on her terms, was an easy, peaceful space – especially if the conversation allowed her to reminisce and talk about her life.

And that is how we remember her. Living life on her terms. No, she wasn’t going to walk round the block every day just because she’d had a heart attack. Yes, she was going to eat cake – a proper, full-sized cake, not the single slice that Paul had thoughtfully offered, thinking of her post-heart-attack health.

She was going to paper-clip her curtains together to stop them gaping and store her shop-bought cakes and biscuits in the oven instead of baking such items in it.  She fully intended to come with us to the pub on Christmas Day but wanted Michael to persuade her. She was going to put her hanky up her sleeve, but still have a dew-drop on the end of her nose. And, in the last weeks of her life, she was going to tell Andrew that he was handsome, but fat.

Despite suffering with her nerves all her life, it was Mum’s resilience that impressed me the most. When we all thought she’d sink under pressure, she surprised us. Money worries? I’ll go out to work. Dad’s stroke? I’ll roll my sleeves up and get on with it. Dad’s death? I’ll use my experience to benefit others. Move house? I’ll settle into my new flat nicely.

And just when I needed it the most, in the latter part of her life, Mum stopped running a critical eye over me and was happy and grateful for whatever I did for her; we giggled together; and she simply loved me.

Farwell to an amazing lady, whose legacy is an equally amazing and loving family. God bless Mum – Hazel Florence Chapman.