For Pat

I can’t remember the last time I wore all black, but nearly everyone was in black for Pat’s cremation service today. I even found an old, but immaculate pair of black court shoes for the occasion. (Boy, was I glad to remove them later!)

Bob and Pat lived in Acomb when we moved here. Later they moved to Humshaugh. We met them through the U3A and mutual friends. Pat had been a real live wire, but her health deteriorated over 25 years. Dementia was the last cruel blow.

Today, Bob gave a moving tribute to his wife of over 62 years. He said that she used to enjoy reciting this poem by Jenny Joseph:

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people’s gardens
And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practise a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

On my way home I called at Halls of Heddon. They have a wonderful display of dahlias everty year and it was easy to find a purple one.

R.I.P. Pat.