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by John Kirton MSc
I’ve no need to tell any of you that Mary was a
person of quality. However, I would like to say a few words about her life
which may make clearer to you, some of the fires in which that quality was
forged.
My
sister, Mary Elizabeth, mother’s second daughter, was born, in 1928, into
a relatively poor army family. Father, a sergeant in the Royal Artillery, was
an intelligent, cultured and capable man, but he had an entry on his birth
certificate which read: ‘father not known’. In those times, this was
something which blighted the family’s life and prospects, and was a reason
why he felt unable to progress beyond sergeant, despite abilities which would
have taken a more fortunate man further. He was a carpenter by trade but was
shifted to clerical duties when he sustained an arm injury in WWI. He was
posted to India, with his family, when Mary was four. During the voyage, and
whilst in India, Mary and her father both suffered serious illnesses, and two
years later, they had to return to England. By then, Mary (as described in a
lovely memoir she dictated to Pauline and I, some years ago) had
‘survived, with such weak legs that she had to re-learn to walk. It was at
that time that, with her thin legs, large sandals, and a great love of cheese,
she gained the not unwelcome nickname of ‘Mickey’.
Despite my arrival in 1935 (father wanted a son), misfortune continued with
father’s invaliding from the army and subsequent nervous breakdown which
led to the family moving to Devon. We lived in a good-sized detached rented
house which was at odds with a postman’s pay - for such was now his job in
response to doctors insisting that his health demanded an outdoor job.
Father lacked faith in Mary; she didn’t shine in the presence of her more
confident and extrovert elder sister, Kathleen, and he failed, at first, to
appreciate the quiet depths in her. He even opposed her taking the Grammar
School entrance exam, for fear that she would incur shame by failure.
Fortunately, her head teacher’s advice prevailed and she duly passed to
become a bright, diligent and successful pupil at Newton Abbot G S. So much so
that 1, following her some six years later, was often reminded (quite rightly)
of how I fell short of her example.
Nevertheless, through a shared interest in fishing and nature, Mary won her
father round and they grew close. When, after a cerebral haemorrhage, father
died in 1940, the economic struggle became acute but Kathleen, now aged 18,
used her earnings to supplement our now-deaf mother’s meagre widow’s
pension. During all this time, Mary, a quiet and introverted child, said little
but saw and learned a great deal about how to survive a life which dealt plenty
of hard knocks. She would also have learned something of how a mother,
particularly one who is ‘up for fun and larks’, can also act as a
surrogate father to a growing boy.
During WW2, while Kathleen ‘did her bit’ in the ATS, Mother made ends
meet by taking in up to 3 lodgers, and Mary was her mother’s strong
practical support. She would help a good deal at home and with shopping,
carrying a large shopping bag over her handlebars on her two-mile bike-ride to
school and bring the groceries home at lunchtime. Then mother would remember
further items and the process was repeated in the afternoon. Mary certainly
missed out on ‘play’ during this period and came in for some teasing
from her classmates and friends.
We
are now getting into the period for which I have some memories. I don’t
think I was an asset in Mary’s life at that time. I tantalised any sign of
weakness and, although she kept her end up at times, rubbing my nose in the
cat’s dinner when I had tormented the poor creature by spraying water at
it, she was ever ready to support me when she thought it appropriate. I
remember her, arms windmilling, sailing into an older boy who had been bullying
me. She was also a whizz at making realistic model aeroplanes out of old
cardboard boxes. She taught me to ride a bike, took me on a youth-hostelling
tour of southern England and sometimes stuck up for me when she thought mother
was too tough on me. Perhaps surprisingly for one whose bent was the arts, she
was really smart at solving geometry problems.
She
had a talent for painting which she wanted to follow-up but she was advised
that her chances of making a living that way were very chancy. Nevertheless,
she blazed a trail which signalled the first steps out of poverty, when she
went to Exeter University College to study theology.
Father had renounced his C of E religion by the time of his death and he had
lively, but respectful, disagreements with Kathleen, who was a deeply committed
Christian during her late teenage years and for the rest of her life. Mother
had been a regular Sunday attender who believed strongly in the power of
prayer. So Mary wasn’t doing anything particularly out of line in
developing an interest in theology. However, within the first year, her studies
led her to renounce the claims of the C of E and head powerfully for Rome. A
consequence was that the Exeter course was no longer appropriate and she
switched to a general degree which she duly got. Throughout her time at
college, she had saved some of her grant to give to her mother and had come
home most weekends to help at home. After her Dip Ed she first taught older
girls but later found her niche in a Catholic primary school, working with the
smaller children with whom she was particularly happy. Her efforts and success
underpinned mother’s determination to see me through school to 18 and on
to university.
Kathleen, meanwhile, had married and was raising a family, all of whom are here
today.
At
this time, she was still very closely coupled with her mother, living (and
working) now in Windsor. By now, Mary had shepherded all her family into
becoming Catholics. Pauline and I had married and were raising a family. Mary
continued, as she did throughout her life, to be a committed Christian, a lover
of classical music, a great reader and occasional painter. The purchase of a
house was a clear indicator of the arrival of better times and she revelled in
her ability to provide her mother with secure circumstances at long last.
But
there was to be a major change in her life and attitudes at this time. Living
cheek by jowl with mother for so long, and continuing to be too anxious to
avoid confrontation, her mind eventually protested at the lack of
‘personal space’ and she had a nervous breakdown. A few weeks in a
different environment, with Pauline and I and our young family, saw her
sallying forth each day to join a local archaeological dig, the night terrors
soon departed and equilibrium was restored.
Back home, she surprised one and all, by becoming more confident and outgoing,
even outspoken and, at last, a more appropriate weight, revealing a hitherto
unsuspected attractive female figure. With these changes, it was not such a
surprise when she announced that she was to be married at the age of forty. The
marriage did not last but she raised her two sons with whom she applied what
she had learnt from her childhood observation of how to be both mum and dad.
During her first year of marriage, Mary had obtained a diploma in education for
children with impaired hearing. When the boys were old enough, she went back
into teaching, part time, as a remedial teacher, later increasing her range
with a special interest in dyslexia. During the first two years of her
‘retirement’ we begin to see the pattern of her need to spice her
healthy enjoyment of leisure pursuits with what she called ‘being
useful.’ She joined her son Richard in gaining a GCSE in computer studies
and added Pitman typing qualifications, skills which she put to good use at
Mount Vernon hospital and then, near the end of her life, at Housetops. She was
also active in a local CARE community help scheme.
Soon
after retirement she had learned that the strange things that her body and mind
were doing to her were the first indications of Parkinson’s. She thus
faced an increasingly difficult future although her GP, with considerable
foresight, eased her anxiety by suggesting that, given family history and her
own suffering from hypertension, she was more likely to die from a stroke than
have to suffer the final indignities of Parkinson’s. At this time, Pauline
and I encouraged Mary to consider living close by, in Malvern. She politely
considered the house agents’ brochures which we sometimes sent, but chose
to remain in the community into which she had embedded herself, and close to
some very good friends whom she trusted to give her support when she was in
need. Her faith in her friends proved to be very well founded indeed -
something for which the family is deeply grateful.
Throughout her last years, her battle with Parkinson’s intensified but
success in a balancing act with drugs helped her enormously, although they
occasionally failed her at the end of a tiring day when she would suffer bouts
of mild confusion. She soldiered on through a very difficult period after
moving house, when acute sciatica left her without sufficient mobility to meet
her need to be helping others. With difficulty, she regularly met up with a
group of book readers. Mercifully, by persistent refusal to accept mainstream
medical pessimism, she regained her mobility and returned, as she put it, to
‘usefulness’, assisting two days a week at Housetops. At weekends,
her morale was often lifted by a visit by one or both of her boys.
During these last years she was able to take holidays with an almost lifelong
friend, Anne, and, with the ever-present and loyal support and help of her
great friend, Sue, she was able to get to some of her beloved Promenade
Concerts.
It
was Sue to whom she turned when she was suddenly taken ill, late one November
night. Instant response by her friend, and by the emergency services, led to
the best available attention at the neural unit in Cambridge Addenbrooke’s
but, following her transfer to Watford, pneumonia rescued her from what would,
at best, have been an extremely problematic future.
Whereas her father died, embittered by his lifetime experiences, Mary emerged
from her trials with a character which had been strengthened, rather than
undermined, by toil, misfortune and illness.
Those who knew Mary will be hard put to think of an experience in which they
failed to benefit from contact with her. She was a quiet but resolute force for
good.
She
was cheerful, full of good humour, always ‘up for a lark’, honest and
intensely loyal, hardworking and sensible, talented, never bore a grudge and,
above all, was ever ready to take the next opportunity to love not only her
nearest and dearest but also the next person she happened to meet.
And
throughout an entire life, in which self-sacrifice sometimes spilled over to
the disadvantage of her health, and rejection gnawed at her self-confidence,
she, above all, gave herself to the service of others.
For
me, and all those who knew her, she was, oh, so easy to love.
John Kirton
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