I wanted to give some background on the early years of Mother’s life, to provide insights on who she was, and what she stood for. Her parents came from neighbouring crofts in the Highlands of Scotland, in the wake of the Clearances, where there were very few opportunities. Her father was in the City of London Police, and she was born in the Bishopsgate police dwellings, near Liverpool Street station. She had three older brothers, of whom more later. Her father took her on walks through the city every Sunday, and even recently she knew all the alleys and byways in the City, despite all the changes. After retiring from the police, her father worked on the Grosvenor Estate in Mayfair, and they lived in a house just off Oxford Street. Her mother passionately believed in education, and two of her bothers went to St Olaves, with one going onto Cambridge, and the third went to Christ’s Hospital. Mother did well on the county exams, and her mother promptly put on her hat and gloves to go to the City of London School to apply for one of two scholarship places they offered every year, and Mother was given one. Schools like City of London did a trip abroad every year, and although it sounds odd now, in 1938 Mother went on their trip to Germany, which made an indelible impression on her. First, she recalled that they stayed in Cologne, and when she looked out of the window of the inn where they stayed, every single man was in some kind of uniform. The eventual destination was a small town in the Black Forest. As it happened, it was also the site of a Hitler Youth rally, complete with flaming torches, etc. Mother went along to see what it was about, and said that she could feel the mass hysteria in the crowd. That left her with an abiding distrust of paramilitary organizations, and those which have boys in military uniforms. Obviously 1939 completely disrupted their family life. The oldest brother George joined the RAF in Bomber Command, the middle brother, Ferg, who was a talented linguist and had also visited Germany, was posted by the Army to India and Burma, while the third brother, Alistair, was in the 8th Army in North Africa and Italy. Mother remembered 1944 as a very bad year. George was killed when his plane was shot down over Berlin, her childhood friend from the police dwellings was in Fighter Command and was killed over the Channel, and her father was diagnosed with cancer. City of London school was evacuated to Keithley in Yorkshire for a year, and after that Mother went to Queen Mary College, London, to read Physics. Queen Mary was evacuated to Cambridge. By her own account, she wasn’t a very good student then, and unless you got a first, you were let go. She applied for a job at Pye Electronics in Cambridge, but was told that they didn’t employ women in technical positions. She replied ‘that they jolly well ought to’ and left. She did get a technical job at the GEC, where she was taught to use a lathe, do glass-blowing and use a vacuum line, among other things. Her job was to do the final assembly of next-generation radio valves – vacuum tubes. She met our father at the GEC and they were married in 1946. But even that was not straightforward. Shortly before the wedding her father died, and so they had to move out of the house. Ferg was then supposed to give her away, but he had stayed din the army and was posted to Germany. So, they were married out of her aunt’s house in Ashtead, Surrey, and she was given away by Alistair. Sandy was born in 1947, and the winter of ’47 was one of the worst on record, plus rationing was very severe at that time. Life was not easy. The family moved to 98 Charlton Road in 1952, and the rest is history. My father had also been on a school trip to the continent in 1938, in his case to Belgium and Holland. So as soon as practical we had camping holidays on the Continent, and they continued to travel widely after we had all left home. She enjoyed life, and was happy to see that her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren were all doing well, and really had no regrets.

Let me tell you about Jean, and what she meant to us, her grandchildren. She was very special - vivacious and caring, fierce and sweet, generous and funny, and ultimately ever-loving. She loved her family as we loved her. And none more than our grandpa. They were married for 71 years, sharing a long life together and building a family: three children, five grandchildren, and six great-grandchildren, so far. I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the partners, husbands and wives, girlfriends and boyfriends, that also became her family and she loved just as much as anyone else, even if she did call Hillsy ‘Steve’ a lot! She would tell us stories of building this family - of meeting our grandpa … as she put it: him “quietly pursuing” her when they first met. They were anything but quiet, telling us all about their camping trips, the latest Labour Party ward meeting with Terry, or about grandma having to slave away in the kitchen and bake another pie for grandpa. And you know, she was always willing, and wanting, to take care of you, with coffee, sherry, or biscuits on hand, always ready to play host. Her great grandchildren were also lucky enough to know her, and she cherished being able to spend time with them. Ned, at five years old, would ask her if things like woolly mammoths and the Roman Empire are as old as her, and Elodie once asked whether there were dinosaurs when great grandma was little. She was so happy on her visit to the States to see Ezra, and just as happy when Ori planted herbs in her garden. Patrick has the middle name Gene, named after her, being born two days after her 100th birthday. Although her eyesight was failing in the last few years, she still managed to notice when Elisa wore ripped jeans, or in her grandmas words, wore ‘provocative jeans’. Some of my favorite memories with her are the simplest - sitting in the house and listening to her tell stories, listening to the sound of her voice. We’re all going to miss that, a lot. Miss her at the holidays - wearing a crown from the Christmas cracker, miss her legendary creme caramel dessert, miss seeing her on the couch with a good book, miss grandpa relegating her to the outside to smoke, even in the winter, miss her all the time. We love her, we’ll miss her, and we’re all better for having had her in our lives.

ROBERT BROWNING Home Thoughts, from Abroad O, TO be in England Now that April 's there, And whoever wakes in England Sees, some morning, unaware, That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf, While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough In England—now! And after April, when May follows, And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows! Hark, where my blossom'd pear-tree in the hedge Leans to the field and scatters on the clover Blossoms and dewdrops—at the bent spray's edge— That 's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over, Lest you should think he never could recapture The first fine careless rapture! And though the fields look rough with hoary dew, All will be gay when noontide wakes anew The buttercups, the little children's dower —Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!