Granny:

Elma Allcott, 29th July 1926 – 4th September 2023.

 Being asked to speak here today is such an honour, and perhaps the saddest part is knowing that Granny isn’t with us today to hear how much she meant to all of us.

I want to talk about Granny in the way I’ve always known her and will always remember her:

For her kindness,

her wicked sense of humour,

for being the embodiment of love and loyalty,

her spirit of independence

and for being this kind of ever-present force in the life of our family.

1.       Her kindness

And there’s nowhere else to start but her kindness. It’s impossible not to talk about Granny for more than a minute without the words ‘kindness’ and ‘generosity’ being mentioned. My dad told me that all through his life, she was always so generous with her time. She was always there to help however she could. For years, after she’d moved to Seaford in Sussex, she’d take me and Heather down for holidays by the sea - meeting us halfway, at Richmond Park in London - so that Mum and Dad could have some time for themselves.

As Grandchildren, we all have such fond memories of our holidays in Seaford. First stop Safeway, where we were allowed to push the trolley – and of course, we’d add stuff in that we weren’t allowed to have at home. Breakfast would always be those tiny boxes of Kelloggs variety cereal, and she’d always have her toast on a little toast rack, with the radio on the background. We’d go on incredible days out, and of course, she’d spoil us rotten.

Heather told me that one night she was sleeping there by herself, and getting into bed, and she discovered a huge spider lurking in it. Granny dealt with the spider, but Heather was still terrified to go to sleep. Granny found a picture of these cute bunnies, and put it on the wall, so that Heather wouldn’t be scared. And when she moved back to Rugby many years later, she put the bunnies up on the wall in “the little bedroom” as she called it. And to this day, they’re still there.

She saw food as the way to our hearts. She made a great Sunday roast, homemade crumbles with custard and amazing stews with dumplings.  Every year she’d make her own Christmas pudding and Christmas cake and her own mince pies. She followed in the footsteps of her own granny, who she talked about a lot, and had a big influence on her life.

Her granny also taught her how to make clothes. The day she heard there was a grandchild or great-grandchild on the way she’d start knitting, and usually have a pair of booties done by tea time.

2.       Her wicked sense of humour

She combined her kindness with a wicked sense of humour.

Even to the end, when she was losing some of her memory, she never lost it, and some of her witty remarks were, in Jo’s words, “as sharp as a button”.

She’d always raise a smile at some unintended piece of innuendo or a rude word. It was like she was always one of the naughty ones in spirit, even though she’d always set the right example too. She wasn’t supposed to be laughing, but it was never difficult to catch her trying to disguise her giggle - like when she told Alex off for having dipped his finger in the custard, but she was laughing at the same time.

She had loads of little tropes that made everyone smile, like how she’d put a little pile of salt on the side of her plate, or her having a rest halfway through the meal, or how if you asked her if she wanted you to pour her some juice, she’d ask for “just a little drop” – and of course, we’d oblige by trying to pour the smallest possible serving, with her giggling away.  She knew these were all little things of hers that made everyone smile, and was always delighted to play along.

3.       For being the embodiment of love and loyalty

Granny was the embodiment of love and loyalty. Heather described her to me as “pure goodness”, which is such an apt phrase. My dad told me how he felt her and Grandad set such a good example to him. They loved each other, and he always felt loved.

That love, of course, extended to us all over the years and Granny would constantly, to the point of embarrassment, say how lucky she was to have all of us. We are all so grateful she got to know Lyra, and then Roscoe and then Ru and then finally Ayla. In my dad’s words, “she loved each of her grandchildren and great-grandchildren from day 1”.

She had loyal friendships too. She was friends with Rita for over 90 years. Joan for over 50 years. Rona and Alf 60+, Nora 60+ years. One of the most heartbreaking things when you live to 97 must be how many people you have to say goodbye to. Mum told me that when she went to find her address book, to look up people to invite for today, most of those names were crossed out.

One of the things I most admired about Granny was her loyalty to Grandad, John. He worked away for long periods in Iran, and sadly he died young, in 1983. But Grandad was always around. They say you die twice – the first is when you physically die, and the second time is the last time someone speaks your name. She made sure Grandad was always with her, and when Chaz and I named Roscoe and made his middle name ‘John’, it felt like the least we could do.

Her loyalty meant she laughed at the idea of romantic advances towards her after John had died. She kept his photo on her dressing table and his massive chair in the corner of her living room. And she’d react to so many things she’d seen on the TV or the stories we’d tell her with something like “your dad would have liked that”. And every year she’d make a point of seeking out the Bilton Silver Band, where he’d been a proud member. “Your dad played the cornet, you know”, she’d say.

4.       Her Independence

Granny was always someone with a strong spirit of independence.

She’d moved to Seaford to retire by the sea with Grandad, which was always his dream. She never really talked about the plans they’d made together, but sadly he passed away not long after they’d moved there. She would often tell me the story of going to see her doctor and the doctor prescribing her a part-time job as a way to get over her grief. And one of the things I most admired about her was that she took this advice and forged a whole new life for herself as a matron in a boarding school, Newlands, where she was, of course, loved by everyone there too. She was endlessly curious about the kids that she helped look after there, many of whom came from overseas or were the kids of people in the news or of politicians. She’d always have half a tank of petrol in the car in case she needed to drop everything and drive one of them to Brighton Hospital with a broken leg after some rugby accident.

As a fellow rebel, I always smiled at how much she hated being told what to do. She’d still be doing the weeding and tending to the garden despite us telling her off for it. She was still driving until just a few years ago, perhaps a couple of years longer than she should have, but hey, that was Granny.

I remember a couple of years ago before she had regular carers to help her with her meals. We’d gone round there for a cuppa, and mum started asking her if she’d had any lunch. Granny was clearly not interested and started blagging it. “I had a sandwich earlier”, she said confidently. Mum went into the kitchen, and came back and whispered to me “She hasn’t even got any bread in there or anything to make sandwiches”. Mum asked Granny again. “what did you have in this sandwich?". And Granny just looked at us and goes “oh, y’know… Stuff”.

Even once she did have carers, she wasn’t to be nagged about when to eat her sandwiches:

“Oh, the birds’ll have it”, she once told Heather.

Granny’s spirit of independence meant she followed her passions too. When she moved back to Rugby, she bought memberships at Warwickshire so we could all go and watch the cricket. And she was still sitting out on her little chair in the cold watching speedway, well into her 90’s.

The first time she met Alex, we went out for a family lunch, and Alex didn’t quite believe we had a granny who loved sport. Until the end of the meal where Granny turned to my dad and said, “Liverpool vs Arsenal kicks off at 4, doesn’t it? We’d better get back…”

Granny, if you’re listening to this, please keep that password for sky sports. I’m still using it.

5.       This ever-present force in our family – our Queen.

Granny lived a full life as well as a long one. She was like our family’s Queen. A constant figure. Someone who would always be there, somehow. Born in the same year as the Queen and dying almost exactly a year later.  It’s pretty impressive to outlive the Queen despite having none of the fancy private doctors… and living mostly on white bread and thimblefuls of water… with maybe the occasional massive fish and chips in a pub thrown in.

One thing that definitely helped was her pacemaker. She’d often joke that she’d carry on as long as they’d keep changing the batteries.

Just like the Queen, she was a connection between generations and between different worlds - and full of stories.

Her wedding photos are in black and white. She talked about learning short-hand at college. She remembered standing up for the national anthem when the wireless broadcast ended for the night.

She remembered her dad surviving the Somme and losing her uncle who died in battle just a couple of days before the end of World War 1, and she watched the bombs falling over Coventry in World War Two.

She talked about her trips to San Diego and Spain, and the letters Grandad would send her from Iran, predicting the uprising and revolution in 1979 and him saying to her “There’s trouble brewing here, they’ll be sending us home soon”.

And endless proud family stories too, like her brother getting awarded a commemorative cricket ball for bowling a hat-trick for Lawrence Sheriff, and her Uncle Bill receiving the British Empire Medal for keeping the radio masts running during World War Two.

So that’s Granny, and some of the things I’ll remember about her: Her kindness, her wicked sense of humour, for being the embodiment of love and loyalty, her spirit of independence, and for being this kind of ever-present force in the life of our family.

She is a huge loss, but we can be grateful that we got to have her in our lives for so long.

So as we mourn, we can celebrate too. Not that she was ever one for celebrations involving herself, of course. In fact, if she was here, I can almost hear what she’d be saying right now:

“All this fuss. For me. Well… I’m very lucky, you know”.

Graham Allcott

6th October 2023