Scene – Early autumn sunshine dissects a mature wooded area aside a north Leeds parkland lake. Almost three years to the day since our mother’s passing, with solar rays peeping through trees bathing our faces with a pleasing warmth, my brother Ian and I stand tentatively among the waterside woods.
Her eldest two offspring preparing to deliver an emotive goodbye to the fallen matriarch, prior to scattering her ashes around a quiet woodside copse. Neither of us are ordinarily stuck for conversation, however, on this occasion our words were brief. These tear-choked sentences delivering gratitude for everything Maggie (mum) had done for us and our progeny.
With autumnal leaf fall now in full flow, the calming solar rays comforted our hirsute visages. It felt to me our force of nature mother was among us, reaching out with a re-assuring message. As we both adorned unkempt beards, I imagined that message to be a mischievous admonishment like “You two scruffy bleeders could’ve had a shave before you turned up!”
Further thoughts Maggie was among us manifesting shortly after our kid and me had scattered of her remains, when a branch fell from an adjacent horse chestnut tree. Swiftly followed by two conkers simultaneously hitting terra firma with fearsome force. Their gravitational descent thankfully missing our shiny pates on the way down.
The fact we only just dodged the branch and conkers manifesting laughter from both of us. Concluding that if these ‘missiles’ had struck us it would have painted a wonderfully comic scene which mum, with her impish sense of humour, would have no doubt found hilarious… Well, provided the branch hadn’t knocked us unconscious, anyway!… Although, then again!
Although regular churchgoers in childhood, courtesy of Maggie’s then theist advocacies, in adulthood Ian and I have become more sceptical about a spiritual afterlife’s existence. Our kid deciding that there was no god after Mars Ltd discontinued selling Spangles in the early 1980’s. Me edging towards agnosticism when discontentment set in during Gateshead’s Great Marmite Famine in 1985. The lack of vegemite availability leading to me questioning whether there was an omnipresent force watching over us.
Anyhow, my brother and I would like to think mum will approve of the view from her final resting place. And if she doesn’t, I’d like to think the westward waterside view will please her son’s lax shaving routines.
The spot chosen a wonderfully picturesque lake scene the fallen matriarch would have witnessed on scores of occasions in her 1940s/50s childhood. Born one year after WWII started, views like this would have provided one of the few fillips for young children, like Maggie, who must have been terrified as German bombers dropped their payloads on British cities.
I do not recall mum talking much about living through WWII. The only reference I recollect her making about the conflict was when she mischievously taught her offspring the old music hall ditty about Hitler only having one ball. A refrain, which if true, also taught me that Himmler had two that were very small, and poor old Goebbels had no balls at all.
A lesson I’d like to think which led to my lifelong love of history, and old comedy musical hall songs, such as ‘Oh, Mr Porter!’ and ‘Don’t Put Your Daughter On The Stage, Mrs Worthington’… Incidentally, as my sister Helen appeared in Am-Dram productions during her youth, it was not advice Maggie followed herself.
Helen sadly unable to join Ian and I when scattering mum’s ashes… Although, she approved of the site via photograph.
So, apart from a small quantity of ashes Ian, Helen, me and other close family members will dig into the roots of respective plant pots containing dad’s ashes, Maggie is now at her final resting place overlooking a parkland lake she loved in childhood.
I hope you approve and we’ve chosen well, mum. Rest there in peace x
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