Mushroom

with dew.

I went over to see my brother and to go along with him to the funeral of my late father's cousin.  She was 92 and had certainly enjoyed life to the full.  The Methodist Church was full of several generations of her immediate family. As were the rest of the family, she was Church of  England but the Methodist minister had been wonderful to her in her final weeks when she was in hospital. She had planned her celebratory funeral down to the last detail, which included a lunch buffet in the room next door.  One of her great-grandchildren played the piano as she was brought in - "White cliffs of Dover" and then he moved to play the organ as she was taken out ("You'll never walk alone," which surprised me as she was a Derby County fan).

It was a wonderful celebration of her very full and very long life.

I had not seen her for ages and my most vivid memories of her were in the big (and chilly) kitchen in the farmhouse in Winkhill (Staffordshire Moorlands). I can't have been more than five years old, and I was fascinated by the way they lit the oil lamps as the evening wore on.  They had no electricity at that point.  (I'm not THAT old, this was exceptional even for then.)

The mushroom is in my brother's garden, the house where we were brought up, and which has so many happy memories for all of us.