travelswithalice

September 06, 2011

Mum goes home to Epping Forest

In late August, Stuart and I took Mum's ashes home to London. She had died peacefully at 93 years, just quietly slipped away, with Stuart and me at her side.

She had a long time ago made known to us that she wanted her ashes strewn on the churchyard of the old church near their home in Epping Forest in Essex. She had been her most active there as a young wife and mother, busying herself with the Mothers' Union, the Women's Institute, and the various fetes and activities women her age busied themselves with in post war London.

We arranged to meet for lunch at a nearby pub, the Theydon Oak (reportedly frequented and once owned by Rod Stewart), with the Jones cousins- Dilwyn and Marion and Richard and Gill- who came down from Cardiff. It was a delightful family get together, full of joyful recollections of Mum when they were all very young; and jeers and cheers for the retired, the almost retired, and the not yet retired.

Dilwyn, Stuart, & Richard

Gill, Alice, & Marion

The church of All Saints in Theydon Garnon couldn't be more picturesque if Agatha Christie had made it up. A twisty old country road leads to the lovely old church, part of whose nave dates back to the 13th century. It's really quite famous because it is literally on the crossroads of the old and the new travel routes to London. An ancient Roman road passes to the east of the building and a medieval road passes to its west. More useful to today's motorist though is the nearby junction of the M11 and the M25.

Church of All Saints in Theydon Garnon

The Rev Stephen Walker, vicar of All Saints, took us to a spot in the churchyard where Mum's ashes were to be interred. Not scattered, as Mum instructed; but surely even Mum would not have objected. It was beautiful- right next to a paddock where horses grazed.

So, on a lovely sunny afternoon cooled by a soft breeze, Mum was laid to rest in her beloved home. And would you believe it? The ponies came! A small group of about four or more actually mosied right up to the fence to watch the proceedings. It was a perfect coming home.

Dinner was at Smith's Fish Restaurant at Onger, lately restyled as Smith's Brasserie, this time with Uncle John and Auntie Pat, cousins Keith and Lindsay, her husband William and their son Thomas, and Dad and Mum's friends Derek and Barbara with whom we later, much later, drove back- in the uncertain dark of the country and the confusing streets of the city, arriving very tired at midnight at the Parklane Hilton.