My mother’s cremation was at Penmount Crematorium near Truro
on Friday 4th April.
Beforehand all five of us shared breakfast in the sunny
dining room of the hotel where we had stayed the night.
Perran’s plans to move to Brussels had finally crystallised
and he would return to London that same night on the sleeper train in order to
pursue arrangements. Carenza announced she would move in with Sandy when Perran
left, another milestone. She had to
return on the sleeper too – a friend’s hen party the next day.
So Mum’s death was not the only big change taking place, and
everybody had suffered the drag of time pressure as they made the long trip to
Cornwall for the funeral.
Despite the sunshine and the abundant spring blooms in the
hotel garden, we were self-absorbed, hoping we were suitably dressed, running
over readings and eulogies.
The funeral went smoothly, orchestrated admirably by Revd.
Di Willoughby. The lunch afterwards was
held in the barn at Trelissick, an NT property which Mum had loved. It was good
to catch up with friends, relatives and carers, and to remember Mum.
After a couple of hours, guests were leaving, but bizarrely,
after all the fuss and flurry, it was now hours until the sleeper train, and we
had nothing further scheduled. Dad didn’t
want our company as he needed to rest.
And it was the most beautiful bright spring day.
The five of us walked on into the fabulous gardens of
Trelissick, which were at their peak, with blossoming magnolias, azaleas and
camelias. Incongruous in our smart black
gear, we strolled along the paths we had walked so often with Mum, and recalled
how her circuit had reduced in circumference as the years progressed. We talked desultorily of this and that, and
there was no rush or urgency. Perran and
Pascoe climbed the tree they had first tackled as infants. All of us perched in the wooden hut where,
when the children were babies, I had once sat to breast-feed them. Blue sky,
green grass, bright flowers.
If there is such a thing as an oasis in time, then this was
it.
I know that sometimes I shall feel sad in the months ahead, and
I am writing this for my future self, so I can recall once more an unlooked-for
perfect afternoon with my husband and children.
