I doubt that is ribena
This was due yesterday, mother’s day here in the UK, but for reasons of incompetence it never happened. Still, one day late is better than not at all….
My mother died in January 2010 after a short series of illnesses. Her last conscious moment, in intensive care, had her blink at me, say ‘Hello darling’ and lapse into the final coma that proceeded her death a day and a half later. Not bad final last words, when you think about it.
Dad is ready to be the life and soul while Mum lends a helping hand
She wasn’t a woman of many words, preferring to create an environment for the men around her – me, my father and brother – to indulge our egos and opinions. She loved nothing more than a large gathering, usually involving lots of home cooked food, with a vibrant atmosphere and debate and discussion, fun, family and friends.
She was a snob who hated pomposity, a liberal with trenchant conservative views, an atheist with more faith in the goodness of humanity than a dozen church-fulls of the devout.
Early days; mid 1970s
She lived for the day, loving her life in rural Hampshire with her beautiful and productive garden, her leading role in the creative life of the local WI and her dearly loved if often irritating husband.
Mum loved the chat of the radio as the background noise to her life – her muzak. The Home Service that became Radio Four was a constant, often driving my father to turn off the radio with an irritated ‘For god’s sake Barbs, can we please have some peace and quiet?’ He, however, was to be found arguing with whoever was on the radio, be it politician, expert or commentator. One day mum bought a new portable radio – in pink plastic. She waited until my father was in mid rant, face inches from the speaker, spittle on his lips when she leant across him and put a silver pom-pom on the top of the set. Dad looked at her quizzically. Mum looked sad, ‘Poor little thing. How would you like to be shouted at like that?’
The Vet and the Lawyer, Zorro and Mrs Dalloway…
If mum was happy at her many family gatherings, surrounded by her beloved grandchildren – her dressing up box was second to none – she was at her most relaxed working in her garden, carving beauty from the infertile clay of the New Forest over 35 hard sweaty years.
Every year, on her birthday, my father write her a poem. One recurring theme of those poems was ‘Barbara’s Gone into the Garden Again’.
The Gardener 21st October 1990
Barbara’s gone into the garden again,
(The weeds are in for a shock)
And she’ll spend happy hours, ‘mid her shrubs and her flowers
With never a thought for the clock.
The October sun is warm on her back,
As she works through the herbaceous border,
Green-fingered and sure, coaxing beauty once more
Out of summer’s prolific disorder.
A drowsy wasp vies with later butterflies
On apples in tumbled profusion,
And there’s sweet disarray, in the garden today,
A warm, multi-coloured confusion.
The old hedge is starred with scarlet rose hips,
Tireless bees plunder each ivy flower.
And where grasses stand tall, unwilling to fall,
Still the cat haunts her summertime bower.
Soon clouds will pile high in the dark Autumn sky,
And the earth will lie sodden with rain,
Then – in jerkin and boots, not caring too hoots,
Barbs will go gardening again!!!
Mum, 1945 aged 19
She didn’t believe in mother’s day. Her views were simple. She’d chosen to have us, and she should be thanking us for being her children not the other way round. It’s a seductive fantasy when you’re small and pocket money is hard to come by. But you soon realise how much you owe a parent with that attitude. Always mothered, never smothered.
TanGental 
Wow, what a fantastic tribute to your mum. She sounds like an amazing lady. And beautiful too, what a stunning photo of her in her teens. She shares the same name as my mum!
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She was a stunner and apparently incredibly shy of her looks that she would be quite rude if you complemented her. Glad the name check works!
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This is gorgeous. “She didn’t believe in mother’s day.” My mother doesn’t either and for that reason we never celebrated it much but instead tried our best to show her appreciation everyday. Thanks for sharing a small picture of your mother with us.
p.s. “atheist with more faith in the goodness of humanity than a dozen church-fulls of the devout.” Makes me hang my head in shame. I wish we were a better people. 😦
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Ah Deb thank you; and Mum would say that you can but do what you can do on each fresh morning – so when you pull back those curtains, smile and be good today!! That’s all that’s expected. :-))
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A beautifully written, heartfelt piece. Thank you for sharing your memories with us.
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thanks Dylan
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“Always mothered, never smothered.” I hope all four of my boys can one day say the same of me. I loved this and I always forget that Mother’s Day in the UK is in March. Your mum sounds like she was a very special lady and I love the way you describe her spirit. 🙂
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Thanks jess – she managed the letting go piece for my brother and me very well – a strong sense of freedom but with just enough guilt to make sure we did keep coming back! Actually to be fair, she made it fun; that’s what brought us back
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Lovely. I think that word describes Mothers best, and yours sounds lovely.
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Thank Claudette. She was special, of course, like all the best mother’s are.
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How did those women of that era look so beautiful? Yours is absolutely stunning.
My mum died in 2004, there’s a post (as usual) about her somewhere, but here she is in her prime:
https://everypicturetellsone.wordpress.com/2012/11/23/hollywood-wannabees/
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Something in the wartime diet I suppose
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Your Mother was beautiful in looks and spirit, and your dad’s words show their love!! You have written a beautiful tribute to your mum. I am sure you have read my effort but here it is again ! ( any excuse)
https://willowdot21.wordpress.com/2012/06/03/gentle-she-was/
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That is so lovely
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What a woman ey!?
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Lucky to have had her, weren’t we
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What a wonderful post/tribute. Your mother was beautiful and I absolutely love the poem. It sounds like your parents loved one another dearly.
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Oh they did. Utterly besotted and they teased each other constantly. Great example to their children and grandchildren how to see life’s absurdities and enjoy them to the max.
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A marvellous tribute your wonderful mother, Geoff, and I’m going to add along with the rest that she was a beautiful looking women. Your dad must have thought he’d hit the jackpot when he met her. Would love to know more about where they met, if you haven’t already written a post about that.
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I have it’s very romantic. I’ll try and find the link for you.
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Smashing. Nothing like a good romantic story with a happy ending. It’s about the only thing that can make me cry.
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https://geofflepard.com/dads-letters-the-story-of-a-1940s-love-affair/
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That was more or less perfection, Geoff! Lovely piece. I can’t say my mother was like that particularly, but she was beautiful and I loved her, and she was my mum. At some point in nearly every day, I long for a Mummy cuddle!
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I miss the wit and wisdom and unexpected hilarity most. Cuddles were nice too.
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She sounds lovely. Mine was more like “All right, let’s stop buggering about”, or prone to doing things like switching channels on the tv using her knitting needle to prod the set, just as you’d got stuck into Top of the Pops or something. She was lovely in her way, though!
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Mine had this way of saying ‘Coffee’ just when some Dennis Potter drama reached the raunchy bit and my brother and I perked up. The sight of a bra being unclipped had the old girl in a frenzy of activity in front of the screen – talk about seven veils.
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Lovely tribute to your mother, Geoff, and good to keep her memory alive.
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Thanks Anne
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I love this. This was my favorite part: “She didn’t believe in mother’s day. Her views were simple. She’d chosen to have us, and she should be thanking us for being her children not the other way round.”
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She was insistent on it. She was very cross if we ever said anything that contradicted that. Mind you she also insisted we had certain base skills when we left home. ‘I married an incompetent man and I’m not having two more incompetent males on my conscience’
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Oh, no, lol! Direct she was!
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Beautifully written.
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Why thank you Kindly
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What a lovely tribute to your mum. She sounds nice. And I can’t think of a better way to spend the days than out in the garden.
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Indeed, never was a person happier
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A beautiful tribute. She raised you well.
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Beautiful tribute, beautiful woman and beautiful family life. What could be better than that?
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True!
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