Last Act

Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,
Feeding these rebel pow’rs that thee array,
Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth,
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay?
Why so large cost, having so short a lease,
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend?
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,
Eat up thy charge? Is this thy body's end?

Then, soul, live thou upon thy servants’ loss,
And let that pine to aggravate thy store;
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross;
Within be fed, without be rich no more:

So shalt thou feed on death, that feeds on men,
And death once dead, there's no more dying then

Today we said goodbye finally and irrevocably to my very very favourite octogenarian, with a really upbeat service, designed by herself, and attended by a large number of her friends, as well as her family.

I gave a eulogy, and was able to say a lot of what I wanted about her, and to her: about her energy, and good humour and her competence, and sheer range of interests and capacities - and the courage and unflinching realism she showed at the end.

The Rector of St Mary's is one of the Queen's Chaplains and she had asked (or even, knowing her, possibly insisted) that he should wear the red gown that goes with the position. He kindly did, and very gorgeous it looked amongst the black.

It was a good service, and the flowers on her coffin were gorgeous - and in the warm vibrant colours she loved.

In fact she had spent the night in the church under them, with her granddaughters toasting her in whisky and amaretto. She would have adored that!

This is her as I like to remember her, congenial, bonhomous, and larger than life, sitting on her patio in the very shadow of the church where the service was today