“Hello Emily dear”. That was how all my phone calls with granny started.  I have such fond memories of our conversations which often included what was happening in her garden. How, even into her 90s, the phone would nearly ring out as she was coming in from the garden where she had been out digging, weeding, harvesting raspberries, or pruning roses.  

That image of Lois working hard in the garden is so fitting for my sense of her as a lively, energetic and ever-practical granny.  Things re-used, re-purposed, and looked after with care.  The calendar in the downstairs loo with everyone’s birthdays. Her list of foods which each of her grandchildren would and wouldn’t eat.  And my brother reminded me of the treasure trove of cards, gifts, trinkets, and such like which she kept from each of us over the years.  The wall in the kitchen where she marked our heights each time we visited.  And all those family photos; across bookshelves, mantlepieces, and under glass-topped dressers. Fashions and hair-dos changing; my brother, and cousin Ben growing up, and now photos of our children, her great-grandchildren displayed too. And in all the pics granny was always smiling and elegant.

There was the best silver tea service that came out for every family gathering in Wedmore (matching teapot and hot water jug, always) and those lunches with a minimum of two puddings: the unforgettable treacle tart and golden syrup cornflake tart. She always made them both and the cornflake one was a personal favourite of mine.  After big family lunches, we’d head out for a walk in the woodlands near her house, throwing sticks for Nel the collie dog and someone inevitably slipping in the mud.  As a child, when I stayed with granny mine and my brother’s nagging about the next mealtime was always met with the same wry response: “What’s for supper, granny?”, “W and S”, “What! Not water and sausages again?”… “Wait and see”. 

When I was 10 years old, Lois and Mike came to look after me and my brother in Faringdon while my parents were away. Their visit coincided with the infamous 1993 great Faringdon flood. We woke in the morning to see mud and water flowing down London Street and news that large areas of the town were submerged and it was too dangerous to walk to school. We shared quite an adventure that week.  Granny wouldn’t let me head straight out to school in the morning (despite my protestations), waiting until the worst of it had passed. Eventually, we waded to school in wellies and at the end of the day, granny asked me to write about this adventure, the day Faringdon flooded, to share with my parents on their return.

Granny’s longevity means that I’ve been fortunate to know her as an adult myself.  I took on her trusty red Toyota Yaris in my early 30s when she decided, prudently, to stop driving at 95.  Her last car and my first one.  I inherited the Yaris complete with the duster embroidered by a friend with Mike’s name and a little car, an emergency fiver (as advised by Belinda) and Belinda’s tartan car blanket, which travels with us still today. 

My cousin Kirsten (Olga’s granddaughter) who isn’t able to be here today shared this memory:  

She says, “Ros and I drove down to see Lois for lunch and an afternoon sitting in the sun in her garden. I brought my dog Ray who was a very young and lively spaniel puppy at the time and she found him "very sweet" even when he was running around her house like a headless chicken, digging up plants in her garden and desperately trying to jump on her lap. She was totally un-phased.
She had the whole lunch laid out for us before we arrived and her energy was so calm and composed. She also smelled of Chanel number 5. I'll never forget that. My grandmother Olga, her sister, always wore Yves St Laurent Black Opium. Something tells me they had a sisterly competition over who smelled best!”

A lovely recollection from Kirsten. 

When my daughter was born, Lois booked the local Wedmore cab driver to bring her all the way to Mid Sussex to meet Florence; she was 5 weeks old and Lois, 98.  Flo had just hit peak crying phase but granny sat holding her, totally unphased by this bright pink screeching baby.  Then again, she made the journey, this time to Faringdon to meet Isobel at 6 weeks old.  We couldn’t believe our luck when Isobel lay sound asleep in granny’s arms for nearly an hour, “I just can’t believe it” Lois said.  On that day, we took a photo of 4 generations of the family sitting in a row; remarkable!

And that is the word that I find myself using most when talking about Lois. Remarkable. And kind, positive, wholly interested in what her family was doing, their work, leisure, and she seemed to take such pleasure in hearing about what I was up to.  I leave you with a phrase that has stuck with me from a birthday card that granny sent me some years ago now and perfectly encapsulates my conversations with her.

“Just be very happy”.