Monday, February 19, 2007

Stop all the clocks

"He kisses her on the bottom every night when they go to bed."
"Oh, uckifee."


I'm pretty sure I wasn't meant to hear that conversation between my gran and one of her sisters but it's the sort of thing that sticks in a nine-year-old's mind.

They were discussing the bedtime routine of another of the sisters, my great-aunt Joan, and her husband, Horace. That's them in the photo, back in 1961.
We're going to Uncle Horace's funeral today. He died last Sunday, aged 91.
Uncle Horace was a tease. I liked him but, as a child, was always slightly wary of him: I wasn't sure what he would do next and being a shy child, I feared the embarrassment.
As I grew older, I grew to love him more. He was still a tease but I knew how to deal with it better. I suppose it's in the last 20 years really, that I've got to know him. A visit to their house always took longer than I intended. Mainly because Auntie Joan has the family trait of talking a lot (I missed out on that gene). While she would update me on the family news - being the only sister left, and living in the heart of the village of Mumbles, her house became the 'centre' of the family and she knew everything - Uncle Horace would sit in his usual chair, throwing in the odd one-liner, making Auntie Joan tut, and say, 'Don't listen to him!'
He had a stroke 12 years ago, while in South Africa visiting their son and his family, but apart from a slight physical weakness, it didn't damage him.
But in the last few years he has gradually and visibly become frailer. In the last year, what he's said has been less - but no less entertaining - and he's rarely gone outside the house. And in the last few months the sparkle went. Life disappeared.
He saw both his sons die at a young age from cancer; his only grandson was found mysteriously dead in bed at the age of 23 - that was the only time I saw him cry and tremble with grief. His wife survived cancer and has looked after him and run the home for all of his life: I don't think he knew how to make a cup of tea.
But he knew how to make us laugh.
There's so much more I could say, things that are coming into my mind as I write, but I have to get ready for the funeral now.
Goodbye, Uncle Horace.




7 comments:

DeeJay said...

Wonderful memories - make sure you keep them safe.
I hope I get to 91 with as much love or I really do hope that I get off the mortal coil early.

Thinking of you at the funeral - be strong for those that need it

Liz Hinds said...

Thank you, age (?!)

Shirley said...

Uncles are the best aren't they?
God bless you Liz.

Joy Des Jardins said...

Bless your Uncle Horace. He sounded like quite a character...and obviously someone who has made an impression on you all you life. This was a sweet tribute to him...whether you realized it or not.

Welshcakes Limoncello said...

Sorry for your loss, Liz. He sounds a wonderful character.

Amazing Gracie said...

My condolences. At the age of 45, I found myself the eldest of our little clan. No one to ask questions of or to seek advice from. If I could offer advice to anyone with older relatives, make certain you know everything you may ever need or want to know.
Treasure your memories of Uncle Horace. He sounds as if he was indeed, a treasure!
~~~Blessings~~~

Anonymous said...

Liz, I've been confused with your Uncle John photo and this announcement - so sorry. I hope the family will rally for Aunty (I know you are doing so already from a later post) and your memories of him will be happy ones. He is certainly free from those nightmares now.