A lot of my profession is about finding the right words. It is hard but important to be hoping to find the right words to say goodbye to our mum, Willlemina.

She was born in Africa, to Dutch parents, educated in a convent 400 miles away, at the time a 24 hour train ride, and moved to England at 19. Her mother had moved to Africa, when she was not much older, after being married by proxy before making the long boat journey from a small village in Holland, to find her new husband, an no specific rendezvous,in the vastness of Uganda. She travelled by train, asking for the whlte man, and bush telegraph kept him informed, and within a few days, they met. I wonder at the courage of both of those women, at a time before Easyjet and phones. I think all these major life shapers had a definite influence on my mum. She was raised to believe in the ability to seek for more than a neighbourhood could offer. Miles were not a barrier. She always reminded me of an African lioness, passionate, brave and fiercely loyal to her husband. She was Dutch, and therefore always right. Her education shaped her view of a Catholic God which perhaps damaged her view of church, but did not completely wipe out a belief in something higher to believe in, And her journey to England, to train to be a nurse, led her to a new life with Dad, and a marriage of 60 years.

My mum was a woman that lived with passion. She never conformed to the norm, and sometimes enjoyed putting two fingers up to those she disapproved of. I mean that quite literally, I remember some mortifying childhood moments when I wanted the ground to swallow me up because she was ranting to farmers about bridleways, telling other drivers what she thought of their road skills, or literally putting two fingers up to the man she called the Troll who lived in the village. Perhaps she was ahead of her time, those are qualities I love to see in my own daughter and nieces - and you are all strong, passionate women. Her passion involved a lot of animals. A lot. We had dogs and cats. And then horses. And then ducks and geese - I hated those geese. She has only recently lived without a parrot. And as a child I remember Dad saying very firmly many times, no more animals. I don't know how much he believed in his authority, but we always seemed to get whatever the next thing was. Except, I think, peacocks. I think that was one victory Dad won. She was a force to be reckoned with, and I am not sure that any of us ever had any real confidence in reckoning with it. I wanted to learn Dutch, but apart form a few not very useful but quite rude words in Dutch and Swahili, what I actually learnt was to be able to understand Dutch. This was entirely due to ear wigging on her and Oma's long Dutch conversations. What she did teach me was not intentional, but by some sort of osmosis. I find that I know the Latin and English words for pretty much any plant. My garden is full of her favourites, and they are poignant reminders of one of her loves. She taught me to live by the seasons - her despair if the daffodils were not out for Rod's birthday, her delight in a few twigs of catkins, a little posy of snowdrops, wood anemones in spring. She was a little bit of a forager - I spent many hours searching for wild asparagus in May, stealing apples although we had a lot of apple trees at home - there was one particular tree on the old railway that had much better apples apparently. She would filch cuttings through fences on walks with the glee of a child. She loved nothing better than a bit of trespass, and that always involved a lot of bottom scrambling and brambles. Why stick to the path? It was not something that Dad, Rod or I agreed with, and I can't remember how many times we would beg please can we stick to the path?

She took delight in small things, and her provenance was something she was always proud of. She proudly handed down her many Dutch recipes, teaching me every part, so that now, my children's favourite, and I think my brothers' family is the same, is Runder- lappen. I delight in passing on my mother's provenance to my children, and that my daughter is still soothed when overtired or under the weather by hot aniseed milk, in the way that I would get it as a real treat from my mum.

My mother was proud not to stick to the path. She lived with the courage of her conviction, and despite cancer, really desperate osteo arthritis and then lymphodaema, continued to live to an age that when all things are taken into consideration, was extraordinary. I am not sure if there are any joints she has not had replaced, and yet, although we knew she was in constant pain, she did not let a dodgy knee stop her riding in her younger days, or a lack of mobility stop her trying to drive again. She did not like rules. I had to have my name embroidered on my PE shirt at school, and she vociferously refused to do this, she would not be dictated to by some - I won't say the rest because it definitely isn;t PC. In the end my grandmother, Oma, did it, to save my weekly humiliation. I am sure Rod and Dad can think of many examples as well.

Her vocation as a nurse bought her much joy and pride. She worked night shifts when Rod and I were small, and when we were older, finally got the job of her dreams. A district nurse. That was a time I remember her as really happy and fulfilled. It also incorporated other favourite activities - driving, pinching cuttings from patients' gardens, and often getting free fruit and veg from rural patients. On moving to Devon, she kept nursing for a while, right up to retirement.

Her family was always important to her, despite Geography. She adored her father, and her mother came to live in England near us when he died. Her younger brother, Jitze, lives in California and so can not make it today, but I know he is thinking of her. She loved her brother, and their relationship has been constant. Our Uncle Jitze is an important part of both Rod and I's family, and thanks to the internet, it is easy to stay in touch. It was a joy for her to meet her niece, partner and twins a few Christmas's ago.

She has taken much delight in all her grandchildren, and great grandchildren. I know how desperately proud she is of Rod and his success with his business, but more than that, and most importantly in her eyes, being such a devoted dad. Jodie, the oldest grandchild, was an enchanting gift who always knew her mind. Drew, we all know, is Mr Golden balls in Mum's eyes. Cerys' sense of humour always made Mum laugh, but I also always thought Mum had met her match with Cerys, and she knew it and respected it. Ben and Nell haven't had the length of relationship of her first three grandchildren, but Mum used to say to me about Ben "He'll go far, that one." And Nell had a spontaneous relationship with Nana, involving many completely voluntarily written letters and cards, and felt special to her, in a way that reminds me of how I felt special to Nell's namesake, Mum's mum. I am glad that it was only a few weeks ago that all of us were together for lunch, and I remember thinking how happy Mum looked just to know you were all there, and even better, her two great grandchildren Harley and Riley.

And Dad. She was devoted to him from the moment they met - although she alarmed him rather on their first date by taking off her shoes and walking home barefoot. She definitely lost friends - she had, as she told me many times, won the heart of the most eligible bachelor around. She had already dropped her patiently waiting fiancee back in Africa like a hot potato, and now she cut short her training to be with Dad while he spent time in Africa as part of his training. She worked as a secretary in Heinz, which she hated, to support their early married life while he finished his training. There has never been a moment when she has not completely and utterly adored him and put him first. I think in the end it was a fear of leaving him that kept her living for so long.

My mother was a woman who lived life. She saw the funny side of situations where it wasn't always obvious. She would not conform to growing old and immobile, she kept going right to the end. She really has been an inspiration in many ways. In the way that these things skip generations, these are the things that I hope her grandchildren, and their children, take from Mum.

Live life. Do not believe in the barriers. Do not always follow the path. And stick two fingers up to convention when convention is the barrier. It is fitting that even her choice of burial is non-conformist. I will remember her surrounded by her absolute favourite flowers and people, in sight of her beloved Dartmoor, and not too far from Dad.

Jessica              
March 3rd, 2020