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February 2008
Alison Richards
The sad news has been received of the death just before Christmas, at the early age of 53, of Alison Richards, erstwhile resident of Dorchester.
Alison had a long and distinguished career. Originally with Habitat, she was appointed chief UK buying director when she was 29. Later in 1989 she left to found the homeowners’ chain The Pier and used her position to raise funds for UNICEF, the worldwide children’s charity, with contributions of over £1m.
Just a few days before Alison died she became aware that she had been appointed OBE in recognition of her outstanding work on behalf of UNICEF. Sadly she did not live to receive her honour from Her Majesty the Queen.
Alison had lived at 36 High Street, and her many friends remember her warm personality, her optimism and her infectious energy.
Edith Beatrice May Brown
1919 – 2007
I believe that if Edie was here today her lovely warm smile would be evident, and she would be touched, and modestly surprised, by the demonstrated respect and affection for her. No doubt she would exclaim her favourite “Oh, I say!”, but we all know that she would also want “no fuss” and would want to reassure us that all will be well – “don’t worry, my duck”.
To me she was Auntie Edie, a charming and affectionate constant in all my formative years. For John, Susie and Philip she was a devoted and loving mother. To Sue, Jim and Maria she was a kind and supportive mother-in-law. To Tim, Melanie, Kimberley, Becky, Graham, Martin and Lucy she was a warm and caring grandmother. We all have our memories, our warm thoughts of Edie, our comforting treasured remembrances.
Edie was born, only child of John and Rose Nethercote, in one of the thatched houses between the George and the Fleur de Lys (it is now called Little Pilgrims): one up, one down – outside toilet. Her father was a farm worker, and they met when she came from London to work in service for the Miss Hankeys, who lived in the house next to the Lych Gate. My auntie Anne tells me that Edie was her best pal at school – they sat together, spent weekends in each other’s homes, joined the Guides together, went to Girls’ Friendly Society meetings in the Guest House. Anne describes an Edie from those days who is recognizable to us all: “shy and modest – absolutely lovely – a gentle person”. Anne and Edie were confirmed together at Christ Church – “she was very keen on church”. Here, too, I learned of the beginnings of Edie’s enthusiasm for knitting. When the new headmaster’s wife was pregnant, she was among those chosen to knit the baby’s layette, and they all spent happy weekends knitting like mad! Here also are the first signs of Edie’s legendary industriousness. Think of Edie out and about in the village, and you think of her cycling vigorously to a cleaning job or the shops. ‘Always time for a cheery wave and that lovely smile.’
When they first met, Sid – her future husband – was working in the White Hart kitchens, and when he wolf-whistled as she and a friend walked by, she kept walking – typical Edie, modestly thinking that he must have been whistling at her friend. After their marriage in the Abbey in 1940 they spent their first five years apart, he travelling the world as an engineer in Bomb Disposal and she with a job at Didcot depot packing billycans to be sent to the front. Edie, that incurable romantic, used to put little notes into some of the cans just in case Sid might receive one of them.
She needed the industrious side to her nature when she, her beloved Sid and baby John moved into their first proper home together in July 1947, in a house requisitioned by the Council – then known as The Lilacs, now The Old Forge.
They shared the house (which was sub-divided) with my parents, Denis and Eileen Atkins and me. Edie and my mother now had their own homes. They also had a ready-made pal next door and became good friends. That friendship was cemented in a mutual battle against the cold, damp, rat-ridden house that was The Lilacs. They shared the garden and the childminding. They boiled their clothes in the built-in copper. They used the old mangle in the back garden to wring out the washing. They did what people did in those days: they ‘made the best of it’. For John and me, and in 1948 Susie, it was heavenly. We had a huge safe garden to play in, a barn to explore in bad weather and always someone to play with. Edie was so kind – she would always try to take one’s side in a dispute. I well remember going around to their living room to watch the old king’s funeral on their TV (which was one of the first in Dorchester) and having my first TV meal, which I was allowed to eat sitting on the arm of the sofa. My mother was aghast at such laissez faire, but Edie defended me saying I would do no harm. My sister Elaine remembers an even more generous response from Edie when she and Philip (he had arrived to complete the Brown family in 1954) had fallen out and she had hit him over the head with a brick. When she was marched around to apologize, Edie pleaded her case, because she was “sure she had not meant to harm him”. We had all moved to the new council houses at Tenpenny in 1953. What followed was a sort of idyllic childhood where our parents let us play out in the street, and there were always lots of pals to play with. We roamed around the village making camps, having adventures. Edie formed new friendships with other young families living in Tenpenny. Her tolerance extended to her own children – she even kept her cool when John’s pyrotechnic experiments blew the back off the garage and when his colony of mice escaped from the shed and moved into the warmer kitchen.
Ah, that kitchen! A steam bath of vegetable boilings. Dresser drawers full of sherbert fountains (Edie’s legendary sweet tooth). Delicacies like sausage and mash, liver and onions, corned beef and crinkle chips, banana custard, Victoria sponge. Through into the living room: Edie and Sid sitting at the fireside, he smoking his pipe and giving Edie yellow nicotine streaks in her hair from so many years sitting opposite him while they played cards. A succession of budgies called Joey squawking away, and in later years the rescue dog Susie, whom Sid so adored. On into the little front room, where the ever-patient Edie allowed us to play the ‘Laughing Policeman’ record over and over again on Grampy Nethercote’s old wind-up gramophone. Edie was hospitality personified – one was always welcome, always invited in. Home from home!
A little while after Sid’s death in the late 1980s Edie chose to move to Belcher Court and spent many years there. She was still happily involved in Dorchester activities – the lunch club, the day centre (which was the highlight of her social week), visits from her friends and family. It was in these years that she allowed herself to sit back a bit and let others share the worrying – she always saw the good in folk, and was never heard to say a bad word about anyone. As someone in the village told me: “She was a good soul.” She looked forward to seeing her friends, particularly Shirley Hazell and Jack Palmer, who gave her such kind companionship. Her children continued to support her, and she believed she had the best family in the world. She still had her romantic nature and channelled that in listening to CDs by her favourite singer, Daniel O’Donnell. How typical that she would be a fan of someone with such a clean, wholesome, laid-back image! Her children may have dreaded being sent to purchase these ‘un-cool’ discs, but they cannot have doubted that the embarrassment was worth it.
But how she still missed ‘my Sid’. I want to acknowledge the bond that they had as I conclude. I have chosen words from one of Daniel O’Donnell’s songs, ‘I’ll Take you Home again Kathleen’, with a slight amendment. I hope we can all, through our sadness but also through our happy remembrances, hear Edie and her Sid, together, in these words:
Oh, I will take you back, Edie
To where your heart will feel no pain
And when the fields are fresh and green
I’ll take you to your home again
Delivered at her funeral
in Dorchester Abbey
5 Dec 2007
November 2007
Gwen Hall
A Tribute
Gwen was born in Westcliffe on Sea, but the family moved to Birmingham where, together with her younger sister Anne, she completed her schooling. Anne remembers playing in the garden at King’s Heath and dressing up as bride and groom, throwing rose petals as pretend-confetti, also that as very young girls they would travel by tram to the Lyons Corner House in Birmingham to spend Gwen's 1s. 6d. pocket-money on tea and cakes.
Gwen went to college in Bath, gained a teaching qualification and began her teaching career at Cowley St John School in Oxford. She left teaching to become a cookery demonstrator at the Southern Electricity Board. At this time she made lifelong friends and most importantly her future husband George. A great deal of fun was had by all.... Gwen was already multi-tasking, not only working for the SEB, but organizing Christmas parties for employees’ children, judging at agricultural and horticultural shows, as well as dealing with any catering requests from friends and family.
Gwen and George were introduced into my life at the age of four. At first I was very wary of her. She was always true to her emotions, very facially expressive, and her displeasure was immediately obvious. A very early example was catching sight of her expression of horror and then distaste as I continued to shovel peas on to a fork, rather than pick them up one by one. But Gwen, of course, was the warmest, most caring, most generous person. She would arrive on my birthday with the most fabulous birthday cake. I remember particularly a maypole, decked out with coloured ribbons. As with all treats, I came to expect my surprise every year.
In these early years we holidayed with Gwen and George in a rented house in Newquay. On wet days (there were quite a few) Gwen would play the piano, while we sang a variety of pub songs but also memorably ‘Clementine’. She always enjoyed music here in the Abbey and elsewhere and organized outings to concerts for others over many years. She never told jokes but was happy to be part of one. Whilst in Newquay, year on year she suffered pranks organized by George for my entertainment. Apple-pie beds, sewn-up pyjamas, cotton reels in tins under her wardrobe, all were all met by shrieks from Gwen and with helpless laughter from a small child on the stairs (who should have been in bed).
From 1959 onwards holidays moved to new horizons in Europe involving much organization. In Gwen’s view only England, Austria and Switzerland were clean, so France was only for passing through. Being passable in French, she took on the administrative role of booking hotels on route. She was also in charge of picnics. Interestingly, these sorties into France served to make both Gwen and George into fervent Francophiles, and they enjoyed holidays in France over many years.
For Gwen's nieces and nephew Christmas, which was always spent together as a family, was a special time. At Thatchings, the cottage, they had the 'new' bedroom above the lounge. Gwen had bought paper chains which they stuck together and hung up in their bedroom.
Gwen married George on 5 May 1962. I was privileged to be their bridesmaid together with Sarah, Gwen’s niece. I have been called ‘the other Sarah’ ever since. Rather oddly, perhaps, my parents and I accompanied the happy couple on their honeymoon to Laigueglia in Italy. And things didn’t improve for their honeymoon. Due to a tragic accident involving my brother, my parents returned home, leaving me behind. It is surely a test of true friendship, to have an 11-year-old girl sleeping in your bed on your honeymoon.
Gwen returned to teaching purely by chance or fate. Her car broke down outside the home of Ray Allen, headmaster of the Abbey School in Berinsfield. He kindly offered to take her home and on route she asked him if he had a job. She joined the school, initially working for Lettice Godfrey, and threw herself into the role in her usual way, caring particularly for the individual. She retired from teaching to become a Domestic Bursar at Lady Margaret Hall, Oxford, then subsequently moved to Anchor Housing – having told a little white lie about her age on the application form. It was never going to be possible for her to truly retire. She became a guide at Christ Church Cathedral and a volunteer counsellor at Victim Support, in addition to taking part in numerous activities here in the village.
Gwen’s death has left another large hole in the fabric of Dorchester on Thames. She belonged to a generation which will be difficult to replace – a generation who put community at the heart of their lives and dedicated many hours to adding to the quality of life of those in the community. She always had time, for people and for her many activities in the village. Meet her in the street, and she always gave the impression that she was glad to see you. She was genuinely interested to find out how you and your family were and what you were all doing. She listened, and she remembered, and the next time you had a conversation would refer back to something you had discussed previously. She was also very well informed about the comings and goings and general happenings in the village which she would willingly pass on – and then quiz you to see if you knew anything she didn’t. She was a very proper person – always upright and elegant, and she defied age. Her clothes were often vibrantly colourful, and the ensemble was completed by a superb, often quite quirky pair of dangly earrings.
wen was always much more interested in others than herself. She was fiercely independent. She made light of being unwell, saying people who talked about their health were boring. It is perhaps not surprising that few of us realized how ill she was. We shall miss her dreadfully. I quote here from a letter that George received this week, which is both true and poignant: ‘Such a gifted person in every way and so thoughtful and kind....’ This was Gwen!
with help from
Mary Nash
Sue Dixon