My Mum

I gave a eulogy at my Mum's funeral.  Afterwards a lot of people said they were moved by what I said.  After some careful thought I've decided to post what I said on my blog.  In that way - as in the many mentions she already gets on this blog - her memory will be preserved long beyond my life or that of my Dad.  And that brings me comfort.  I'd prefer it if people didn't comment on this posting. Thanks.

Mum, Llanelli Crematorium, 9 December 2013

I want to talk to you a bit about my Mum. She is... was... a very 

special person to me and my Dad and my sister. And if the number 

of cards we've received since she died is any kind of measure she 

was special to a lot more people besides.

My Mum was both a very ordinary and a very extraordinary woman. 

She was ordinary in all the ways one wants a Mum to be ordinary: 

she liked a glass of wine (usually two) of an evening; she enjoyed 

watching Bargain Hunt, Flog It and just about any other television 

programme that featured antiques; she looked after my Dad and me 

and my sister and was always there for us when we needed her; she 

loved nothing better than pottering around the garden and many 

other ordinary things.  And it is for these ordinary things that me, my 

Dad and Sally loved her and how we will love and cherish her in our 

memories.

But my Mum was also an extraordinary woman.  And this manifested 

itself in her inner strength and her insane competitiveness. Anyone 

who has ever played a sport with my Mum will know how competitive 

she was.  And there were few sports in which she didn't compete 

and excel. At school she participated in netball, hockey, tennis, 

rounders and, I've recently learned, gymnastics. But she didn't only 

participate in these sports she threw herself into them and did so 

with such skill and enthusiasm that she was captain of most of the 

school's sports teams! Once she left school she added swimming to 

her list of sporting accomplishments. Latterly, of course, she took 

up bowls and badminton. And once again she ended up being 

"skip" for her bowls team.

Indeed her competitive spirit also tipped over into her family and 

personal life - and never more so than at Christmas when all the 

family, including visitors, would be corralled into playing charades 

and "Up Jenkins" (I'm not sure one could get away with calling a 

game Up Jenkins these days but those were more innocent times...). 

Most of us dreaded it but no-one was allowed to sit it out and woe 

betide you if you didn't take the games seriously. Indeed I think Dad 

still bears some emotional scars from those times...

And I'm sure I don't need to mention the games she devised for the 

summer parties at the farm. Jeux Sans Frontières had nothing on 

my Mum. Who can forget the poor lady who, whilst reversing the sit-

on lawn mower through a gap created between two bales of hay, just 

carried on going, unable to switch the tractor off or get it out of 

reverse as she disappeared over the hill (whilst everyone else 

collapsed in heaps of laughter). And who can forget, nor indeed who 

would want to, Peter Dawson in a lion mask being "tamed" by David 

Jones.

But what I think makes my Mum unique and special is the way she 

managed to combine the ordinary with the extraordinary. Although 

very competitive she was also a great team player. I've been told that 

at school everyone wanted to be on Janet's Team. And latterly, 

although she was feeling breathless she insisted on taking part in a 

bowls match because she couldn't let the team down. She told Dad 

that she would be fine and would sit down when she wasn't actually 

bowling. But she didn't. She stood the whole time and played the 

full 2 hours. And won the match. And this was on the day before she 

was taken into hospital. As I said, an extraordinary woman.

She was also the rock on which our family was founded. She was the 

loving mother and wife - and no one could ever doubt how much she 

loved us - the peacemaker, the negotiator (and trust me some of the 

"discussions" between me and Dad needed to go to arbitration), the 

home maker, the care giver, the core of our family life.

Dad said to me shortly after Mum died that he felt like a ship that had 

lost its pilot. And I know exactly what he means. And judging by the 

number of people here today and the long distances some of you 

have had to travel plus the huge number of cards and expressions of 

support we've received, I think you know what he means too.

Well we can't replace the pilot nor would we want to. But we will 

need help in steering our ship over the coming weeks and months 

and years. And to extend the shipping metaphor further it's you we'll 

be looking to to provide us with navigation charts and weather 

reports and to act as a friendly tug if we look like we're steering too 

near the rocks. And I know you'll do it gladly in my Mum's memory. 

But that's for the future.

For now I'd like to thank everyone for coming today to join with us in 

saying goodbye to Mum. Goodbye Mum, you were a very special 

person in our lives and we will miss you every hour and every day 

from now on.  

Thank you.