Mum's Eulogy

First of all, thank you for all coming today, to celebrate mum’s life. She would be thrilled that so many of you are here – if not a bit annoyed that she couldn’t join you for a glass of prosecco back at Oakwood Hall afterwards.

One of the many things I loved about mum was her organizational skills – from rustling up a small dinner party for twenty-two to a huge marquee on the garden for Lu and Andrew’s wedding. Lists were drawn up, menus were planned and executed, flowers were arranged and Tufty was told what to wear and who not to offend. Not that he listened...

So it probably won’t come as a surprise to any of you, that apart from the actual date and time, everything that’s happening today – the music, the readings, the willow basket detail, had all been prepped and left in an envelope, way back in 2003. You’ll be relieved to hear that, unlike dad’s departure, we haven’t got a Chippindale dumper on standby outside.

Lots of you have been in touch to share your sadness at mum’s passing – but also to tell me about some of the great times you enjoyed together. Her nursing days were a particular joy, where many lifelong friendships were forged. The legacy of her often having to cope with some very poorly patients was apparent in her parenting techniques.

Simon, Nigel, Lucinda and myself literally had to be delirious with fever before we were allowed a day off school. Her regular response to any of her children’s illnesses – feigned or otherwise – was “Two disprins and an early night dear and you’ll be fine in the morning.”

Although Lu does have a fond memory of a rare day off school, snuggling up with mum, watching Pebble Mill at One. And Nigel recalls her compassion fondly, when he was on crutches for so long, aged ten.

The only thing mum really couldn’t cope with, was seeing any of her children upset. But this was often remedied with a trip to Carters toy shop for the boys or a heavy dose of retail therapy for the girls.

Occasionally, mum would help us with homework – but usually only if it was a project which lent itself to cutting out and sticking on. She did manage to instill in Lu and I a love of reading – though it’s fair to say that Shakespeare never got a look in, due to Catherine Cookson novels being much more fun.

As well as having a nursing career and four children, mum threw herself into all kinds of other clubs and committees. I particularly remember the Bingley Little Theatre phase, where she was involved in props. She took the role very seriously, once leaving dad and I to sit on kitchen chairs for a month, as she’d moved 90% of our lounge furniture onto the stage for a period piece.

I think it’s fair to say that mum tolerated tennis, rather than excelled at the sport. But what she lacked in finesse on the court was made up for in support for dad, joining him on many a weekend and summer nights at Bailey Hills, cheering on the sidelines with a chilled chardonnay.

It was a similar scenario when it came to skiing. She was scared of heights and couldn’t bare being cold, but for dad, smiled her way through bubble lifts in Verbier and dragged her handbag up the button lifts in Obergurgl. It was really only the gluwein and posh shops that could help regain mum’s equilibrium.

It was golfing that mum really took to – and walking. Two things she usually managed to beat dad at, much to his annoyance: “You just haven’t got the patience, Brian.”

She spent hours at Branshaw and Beckfoot golf clubs – either swinging an iron, playing bridge or sorting out flower rotas. And even took her turn at being Lady Captain, a role which she thoroughly enjoyed.

And lets’ not forget the pleasure mum got from gardening. She loved pottering in the green house and had a real flair for making her surroundings look natural and beautiful.

But mum also found time to support plenty of good causes - from Save The Children Fund - to driving, who she called, “the old dears” to The Little Hut in Bingley, for lunch, every week.

But charity really did start at home, because however frantic mum was, her open-house policy for all our friends, boyfriends, and girlfriends was well-known. She could always find a spare place at the table for those needing a Saturday roast or a portion of chicken Thornfield. And the zed-bed was constantly on stand-by, ready to spring open at a minute’s notice - if you didn’t mind sharing it with a Labrador.

As a family, we had some amazing holidays. Simon often refers to our American road trip in a motorhome, which was soon renamed 'the smelly hole' due to our on-board toilet overflowing in Death Valley. It wasn’t long before dad was dispatched to find us a hotel in Vegas.

But wherever we went in the world, mum always had a fear of us getting cold. Nigel says on a trip to Italy, during an 85 degree fahrenheit tour of Pompeii, the Chippindale children were all trussed up in anoraks, while every other holiday maker breezed around in shorts and tee-shirts.

Both Margi and Tufty loved their grandchildren dearly, but after raising us four, we knew we had to make an appointment at ‘Longreach’ before landing with our offspring. But when we did, you could guarantee that Jess, Harry, Holly, Cameron, Molly and Emma got their full attention.

Many an afternoon was spent baking, dressing up dolls, colouring-in or being let loose on the ride-on lawnmower with Tufty. And I know mum was so happy to be introduced to her great-grandaughter, Anya, just recently.

It’s no secret that mum struggled for quite a while towards the end of her reign. And we’ll never know for sure what the real triggers were, but I think many of us believe it coincided with dad’s ill health. A testament maybe, to how much she loved him and feared his loss.

But throughout most of mum’s life, whenever she was faced with a tricky situation – be it medical or personal, she always approached it with dignity. She never once asked “Why me?” It was always a case of “What can I do to make it better?”

We’re so grateful to those of you who supported us with the many decisions we had to make about mum’s health and well-being over the last few years. It gave us great comfort to know that she felt safe, warm and loved by those caring for her at Cottingley Hall.

And I know mum didn’t have a faith as such, but I’d like to think that now, somewhere, she’s been welcomed with open arms by dad, and they’re cracking open the Chablis, toasting a smashing life together.