A voice from the grave

I have in a previous post talked of my cousin, Winifred, who died on 2 Oct. After many years of seeing her infrequently we saw her a lot in her final few weeks. I didn’t even know she was ill for a long time until I had a peculiar  phone call asking if I knew where the keys to her house were.

This phone call from a clearly harried nurse gave no information, not even a number  where I could return the call. Not getting any reply on Winfred’s phone we eventually drove over to Bedworth to find her in a sadly reduced state. Winfred had always been a rather private person and although she made light of her illness it was obvious she was seriously ill. It was from a concerned neighbour that we eventually found the cause which was cancer of the oesophagus.

As I probably said previously Winifred was a great favourite of my parents. All the ( regrettably short ) time we were able to visit her I felt they were urging us on to do whatever we could.  This was little enough. Winifred’s home in Bedworth is an inconvenient drive from our home. Gradually we found a route via the M6/M42 which made the thirty miles a little easier.

As “next-of-kin” I have been making the arrangements. This was helped by a pre paid funeral plan, professional  executors and her church friends.

Her funeral  a few days ago was as she had specified in some detail. Just beforehand I was alerted by a church friend that the local Citizens Advice Bureau was sending a large contingent. I knew Winifred was a staunch volunteer but they did her the great honour of closing so that over 20 could attend. The manager wrote a lovely tribute.

It turns out that as part of a survey the CAB had recorded Winifred talking about her life, mainly in the CAB but covering the whole. Recorded before she was ill this was a very moving listening experience.: even a little spooky to hear her voice talking about her life.  Some was new to me and some even is a bit hard to fit with what I knew or had been told.

Winifred lived in Coventry and was evacuated to stay with my parents who lived in the country. No matter how loving and caring they were this was a massive wrench for a five year old. Fortunately she made great friends with Toby their dog. She was to be a dog lover for the rest of her life.

I’m not an animal lover and because Winifred had large dogs which lived in her house we found it awkward to visit so that when we met she visited us.

Of our generation one other has died and two are severely ill. The family at the funeral was limited to Annette and myself plus a cousin-in-law who travelled down from Carlisle This is Brenda, George’s widow,  who we know well and she stayed here. We were not expecting many at the funeral and were amazed that the church counted 97 in the congregation.

Winifred is now buried alongside her parents in Canley Garden Cemetery. I learned to my surprise my maternal grandmother is also buried there. We are still clearing Winifred’s house. Among surprises is a photo of me as a little boy along with two small girls who were distant relatives and an older girl from the village. I’m sure I have never seen this before. I feel the older girl is significant, perhaps as a baby sitter or someone mother took under her wing.   Maybe I will never find out but I’m still hopeful at this time. The other small girls I can contact. They are distant relatives with whom our parents made lots of joint expeditions when we were young. They had a car relative to our motor cycle and sidecar. I thought it great on occasion to ride in their car.