Spirited, Stoic, Special

We have been choosing the music for Granny’s funeral this week. GGG, GG, Granny, Edna - died fittingly on the night of the Spring Equinox and although she clearly had an impressively long and active life (she was only four months short of her 102nd birthday) - or perhaps because of this, it still feels like a big gap left in all of our lives. Typically, Granny’s main musical choice was something simple and unpretentious - a hymn called ‘I Watch the Sunrise.’ I mentioned in my earlier ‘Edna’ post that she was strong and straightforward, honest and direct. Were these qualities of her generation? I think they might be.

Observing people of her age (sadly and obviously fewer and fewer of them) I always noticed - relative to my generation anyway - how undramatic they were, less vain and less worried about ‘leaving their mark.’ For Granny, if I had asked her how she wanted to be remembered, she would likely have been embarrassed by the question - not because of its personal nature, but because it would seem too self-centred, too pompous. Her legacy was obvious; a large and healthy family - and her attitude to work was a means to an end - no more, no less. The idea of expressing oneself through your job, obsessive self-exploration, the ‘you’re worth it’ mentality would have been completely alien to most of her generation. The concept of creating more drama in one’s life for the sake of it would also have been futile and affected. Of course much of this is because lives in the first half of the twentieth century were dramatic enough; survival was an achievement. With higher infant mortality, debilitating and sometimes fatal childhood illnesses, less means to treat them and no NHS, it is not surprising that living to adulthood and producing your own offspring was something to be quietly satisfied with. Then there was the small matter of surviving a World War - a subject which is all too tragically topical and frightening now - presumably meaning there was little appetite for adrenaline kicks. In fact the motivation of an adrenaline junkie would probably have seemed ridiculous to Granny. Stoicism on the other hand was plentiful; Edna lived during the blitz in Golders Green with her husband and two small children, despite there being other choices available. ‘I decided that if we were going to die, we might as well all die together.’ They simply got on with it; no angst, no fuss and a great deal of dignity.

This is not to say however, that a lack of fuss and drama meant a lack of adventure. I wrote before that Edna was hungry for travel, change and new beginnings; in fact the most insulting thing you could ever throw at her would be to say that she was boring. She was repulsed by the description and if there was ever discussion about some family spectacle, she would always say ‘well at least we’re not boring.’ I recall for example, a conversation about some very kindly neighbours she had, Granny couldn’t help saying ‘to be perfectly honest I find them a little dull.’

Edna also couldn’t stand those who were overly fastidious and polite, hated being petted and patronised and positively thrived on people taking the piss out of her. She would smile when we laughed at her making a dribbling mess out of eating an orange, and had an ongoing, lighthearted feud with my uncle along the lines of ‘who can buy each other the most revolting cards and presents.’ Granny was declared the winner after she bought a very crude card (which I didn’t see) and a model of a pig in shit (which I did). My uncle eventually admitted defeat.

It’s a cliche isn’t it to declare someone who is small, usually female and lives to a great age ‘feisty.’ But Edna really was. If she thought you were talking rubbish she would say so (she was one of the very few people my father would actually listen to) and she had no hesitation telling you to shut up if you were annoying her. And yet she was one of the most un-judgemental people I have ever known. She was only too aware of the diversity of the human race and how much luck plays a part in life. Her friend Joyce used to dress like a man, smoked like a chimney and admired my Grandfather’s suits; I remember overhearing a conversation between Joyce and him with her declaring she had an outfit ‘just like yours Bernard.’ Granny said to me ‘now Anne, do you know what a lesbian is?’ Replying in the affirmative she remarked ‘well Joyce and (her partner) have a lesbian friendship.’ Edna couldn’t care less - just wanted to have interesting and stimulating company and pursuits.

Until fairly close to the end, Granny continued to be the stimulating company that she so enjoyed herself. Covid and lack of activity unfortunately speeded up her demise and the lust for life started to fade. When she eventually passed, I found my reactions the first few days after were by turns sadness, nostalgia, laughter and - to my surprise - some anger. I guess these thoughts come to many of us having lost a loved one - even a very old loved one; ‘what’s the fucking point?’ ‘Why the hell are we all running around like headless chickens anyway?’ ‘Who gives the slightest crap about anything?’ ‘We’re all destroying the world…’ My slightly wobbly resolution to all of this would be to say something that I’m sure Granny felt; the meaning of life is life itself. It can indeed be beautiful, spiritual, enriching and enabling. It is a gift - and one that I hope to live as richly and fully as Edna did. Cheers Granny. I hope you’re enjoying your gin and tonic or port or sherry or beer in that gorgeous garden in the sky.

Uplifting music of the day: ‘Calling all Workers’ by Eric Coates. It may seem unimaginative to select something like this when writing about Granny, but I love Eric Coates’ music. I’ve conducted a few of his pieces and always enjoyed the fact that he unashamedly and deliberately made ‘light’ classical music his specialism. He was a master of this genre and wrote pieces that were so obviously ‘English,’ usually jolly, but never shoddy. His orchestrations were classy and this piece always brings a smile to my face.

Contemplative music of the day: ‘Morning has broken’ - Cat Stevens. This is another choice for Granny’s funeral, and is fitting on so many levels. Firstly it is a great song from a fabulous album (‘Teaser and the Firecat’). But it’s also simple and lovely and this version is perfectly executed.