| The 40 In 40 Days Project. | ||
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39. The Funeral Address (1999) |
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The Au Pairs |
Sally G*** – Sally
H**** – Sally S*****
– Sally H*******. Or to her grandchildren, simply “Darling” –
for “Granny” would never do. None of us here really need reminding
too much about the sadnesses in Sally’s life – we remember them
all too well. Widowed three times in just over twenty years – with a
history of medical difficulties – and with her mobility recently
restricted following a bad fall two years ago. But today, I think
it’s also important that we remember her with a smile. I’m not going to attempt to tell
the story of her life – but rather to share some of my own memories
of Sally with you. Sally was a true one-off – a unique
individual. If she was in the room – you knew it. We’ve all seen
her in full flow, holding the room captive with the sheer force of her
personality. Outrageous – irreverent – mischievous – and
(despite her height) – larger than life. The late D.B., a
near neighbour, who often used to see her walking down the village
street flanked on either side by her two wolfhounds, even had a poem
published about her – its title: Apparition. As we all know, Sally had a wicked
sense of humour. I’m sure we can all think of some great stories,
and some great quotes – and I’d love to share some of them with
you – but maybe now is not the time. And it’s certainly not
the place. However, I do remember one time when
we were on our way to a lunchtime drinks party in the village –
rather a smart do, actually. My father came downstairs with a somewhat
worried look on his face, and said to me “I can’t believe what
she’s wearing – you couldn’t have a word with her, could you?”
Then Sally emerged, dressed to kill – in skin tight black leggings,
black thigh length PVC stiletto boots, and an outrageous puffa jacket:
tight at the waist, with a voluminous gold lamé collar and shoulders
out to here. She looked quite magnificent. She stood there, flashed me
a big smile, and said to me “Well darling, if Julian Clary can be
outrageous – then so can I!” We went to the party, and Sally shone
out in the middle of the room, holding forth in her inimitable way.
She was her own woman – doing things with her own unique sense of
style. I remember everyone who spoke to her that day greeting her with
a broad smile – and do you know, I’m sure that in the sea of
sensible blazers and pleated skirts, I caught just a few envious
glances, from people thinking: I wish I had the nerve to be
like that. Sally’s sense of humour and fun
carried her through some difficult times. I remember when we visited
her in hospital a couple of years ago following her accident. She was
lying there, badly injured, barely able to move, only able to speak in
a small croaky whisper, but still cracking outrageous jokes for all
she was worth. She never wasted a moment on self-pity. She had the
most amazing energy, and will, and strength. After she returned from hospital, I
was on the phone to her one day, arranging a visit up to Blyth to see
her. She warned me in advance that the house would be a mess, and so
was the garden, as she was no longer able to get around and do
everything properly. But when we got there, everything was in order,
and the garden had never looked better. For this was the area in which Sally
was most of all her true self. Her home. Firstly at Bridge Farm in
C****** with her first husband G, the father of her three
children. Then at York House in Blyth, with her second husband, my
father J. Then later still with her third husband James, in that
all too brief Indian summer of happiness which they both enjoyed. This – her home – is where you
saw a vulnerability to Sally which some were never allowed to spot
behind the front which she put up to the outside world. This is also
where you saw how utterly capable and practical she was – never more
so than in a crisis, when she was unfailingly magnificent. All my fondest memories of Sally lie
here – of seeing her curled up in the evening on a cushion, with her
dogs by her side, buried in the latest Dick Francis or Ruth Rendell.
Or my favourite image, a scene which was played out so often over the
years. We would be sitting together at the living room table, long
after lunch had finished, with the plates still not cleared away,
still talking hours later – telling each other old stories, even if
we’d heard them before, it didn’t matter – and roaring with
laughter. We all have our own memories, our own
stories of Sally, and I’m sure I’ll still be talking about her for
years to come, regaling my friends with favourite Sally anecdotes. She’ll be missed most of all by her
three children, and by her four grandchildren, upon whom she doted.
Our thoughts are with them today. So. Sally H******* – Sally
S*****
– Sally H**** – Sally G*** – Sally darling! |