Joan Mary Cowley

21 November 1919 - 24 May 2006

First, I'd like to say that fixing the date for Joan's funeral proved to be difficult because of prior commitments. It soon became clear that no date would allow everyone to attend, and unfortunately that has meant that my wife, Shui, could only be here in spirit.

Next, I can recall going to funerals as a child and not really remembering very much. In years to come if Mum's grandchildren are to remember today I hope that they will be able to recall some of Grandma's history, for while she may in some respects have been only an anonymous 1 in 6 billion, there is an abundance to remember, reflect upon, and learn from.

Finally, I hope that my tears will have been shed in writing this, rather than in delivering it.

My mother was born in Byfleet on 21 November 1919 to Frederick and Mary Allen. Frederick was a schoolteacher, later a headmaster, while Mary looked after the home. I never had the chance to meet my grandparents, but by all accounts they were both pillars of the community and somewhat special. My mother loved them, and her younger brother Derek, immensely, and when the going got tough recited the phrase "Stick at it Joan" that her father had used as encouragement.

Being brought up in the headmaster's home wasn't always easy. There were high expectations, and sometimes sacrifices. One Christmas Eve a man arrived at the headmaster's doorstep explaining that he had promised his daughter a doll, but could not afford one, and it was anyway too late to buy one. His daughter had her Christmas present, but my Mum lost her doll; something I do not think that she resented, but that clearly did influence her.

There were of course advantages in living at 10 Elgar Avenue. One was that Mum's oldest friend Ursula (or should I say Squimp in this context), came to live next door. Another was living in the catchment area of Tiffin Girl's School, the local girls' grammar school, where my Mum went aged 11. She was always proud to be a Tiffinian, and had happy times there. Indeed, Mum maintained contact with the school after she left through the drama club (although on the drama front it is not clear that she was in the same league as her talented granddaughter). The timing of her leaving school was also somewhat of a sacrifice. Soon after she had started whatever "sixth form studies" were then called, a post came up at County Hall. For financial reasons it was thought best to take it, although it is clear that, in different circumstances, Joanie (as she was then called) would have loved to have continued her studies.

The next major event in her life was the war, and that is one of the reasons for the choice of music at the start of the service: the theme from Schlindler's List. All good talks ought to have three points, and the three points I'd like to pick out from that film are: war, doing the right thing, and escape.

War. Close to the start of the war my mother moved from County Hall to the National Assistance Board in the "Borough". Through much of the London blitz she "fire watched" (as had my father). Fortunately for my sister and I she survived both her fire watching duties and the nights in the Anderson Shelter at 10 Elgar Avenue (a shelter that was only eventually demolished earlier this year). In 1942 she was called up into the ATS, and good things can come out of bad. It was training on Salisbury Plain, flying in Dakotas, liberating Brussels, etc. where she and Jessie, and others, developed the deepest of friendships. Friendships that even in her final years of confusion she never forgot.

14 months ago at my father's funeral I recalled a story of looking out of my parent's bedroom window to watch the arrival of a new car. Another time when I went upstairs to that bedroom I found my mother in tears. I cannot remember exactly what she said, but the words "war", "terrible" and "not to worry" were somewhere there. With hindsight, and the benefit of my history lessons (grandchildren take note), I think it was 1962, and most probably the Cuban missile crisis. Those of us from a younger generation must never forget those who went to war, and the terrible experiences they endured for our sake.

Life did not get much easier for Joan after the war. In 1947 her father died suddenly before retirement, and Joan nursed her mother through the end stages of cancer whilst holding down a full time job. This took its toil, but positive events were not far off; in 1955 she married Donald, and soon after that I, and then Julia, arrived. This phase of Mum's life might be best summarised by Canon Roy Chamberlain, who was vicar at St Matthew's for many years, and who wrote at Christmas 1958: "I am so glad you are such a happy family ... I shall always remember your father and mother, Joan, and you for the faithful way in which you cared for your mother".

In many respects this leads into my next theme: doing the right thing. Joan had a deep sense of what she ought to be doing, and this is reflected in the activities she enjoyed whether it was being a member of St John's Ambulance, or giving blood, or supporting and helping run first a school Parent-Teacher Association and then the Berrylands care scheme, or caring for her mother or brother in their last years, or staying up nights-on-end comforting her children when they were ill or anxious, or being the steadfast rock on which her marriage and family were built, or being the friendly neighbour. Indeed, enduring friendships with neighbours and others were a key feature of her life. Last week I had the sad duty of phoning Ada, one of our neighbours in the 60s. Julia and I had a close friendship with her children, and there was a large hole in the hedge that we regularly ran through. It was a very happy time. For Mum it made no difference, relatively so soon after the war, that Ada was German, or that Aubrey her husband was from the Indian sub-continent. They were her friends (and have proved lasting friends), in a period when unfortunately not all were so enlightened.

As well as the more serious times, there were of course the pure fun times, e.g. those at St George's young wives, or cooking continuously on self-catering holidays, or celebrating royalist loyalties by attending the trooping of the colour or the Silver Jubilee fireworks, or indulging oneself whilst being on continuous (and fruitless) diets, or 20+ years of driving lessons (and then passing), or playing with and caring for a succession of cats (Sooty, Trixie, Tesco and Cleo are those that spring to mind, but there were others; and when there were no more cats, there were of course the foxes). I particularly remember the reflective chats late at night in the kitchen, and an outing where it was only Mum who would go with me. Few I think would describe Joan as trendy or hip or having street cred or whatever the current "cool" term is. However, when I was at College I thought it would be interesting to go to the Notting Hill Carnival. I couldn't find anyone of my age to go with (I think I even asked Colin Rodger); inter alia, people chickened out saying it was too dangerous or quoting some other reason ... but my 60-year old Mum and I enjoyed it. I think her work colleagues at Kennington (which is adjacent to Brixton) were quite impressed as well.

I suppose that I ought to point out that there was the odd flaw: she voted Tory (except the time I was her proxy). Surprisingly there were a few other faults as well. Indeed last Christmas dinner, when the whole family was together for what tuned out to be the last time, we all, well nearly all of us, had a joke recalling the ballistic Sunday lunch ... but I am sure, no I know, that my father or I had done something to provoke it.

Given the above, how might we summarise Joan? She was the 79-year resident of 10 Elgar Avenue, who never really wanted to leave the family home. She was the faithful wife who deeply cared for, supported, and loved her husband Don. She was the wonderful mother and grandmother, who continuously encouraged Julia, myself, John, Shui, Laura, Sam, Ben, Matt and Li An, and who was immensely proud of all our achievements. She was the very loyal, caring and supportive friend who was always there. She wanted the best for all of us, whether new cars for Dad, or a College education for me, or support for her grandchildren ... she was selfless (and indeed never did get her new kitchen). Through self-example, she tried, and sometimes succeeded, to teach all of us to believe in fair play, to do the right thing, and to do our best ... and if we did that then whatever the outcome was fine by her.

Of course, she was not the most confident of people, nor was she distinguished or famous. In the mid 80s, my sister Julia worked for someone who was self-confident, distinguished and famous, and who might be described as 1 in 6 billion. That person once said, "There is no such thing as society". My mother, Julia's mother, our children's grandmother, Jessie's and Ursula's friend, was the living proof of society; like her parents she was a very special person, indeed to borrow a football idiom, she was "the special one", and I believe a true 1 in 6 billion.

And that in some sense might be a good place to end. But those who are alert will have noticed that I have yet to refer to my third point: escape. Joan had a genuine faith in Christ. A faith that propelled Don, Julia, herself and myself to Sunday school, Pathfinders, Brownies, Guides, YCF and all manner of other activities at Emmanuel. Her faith may not have been sophisticated, but it was genuine and it meant a lot to her. Later on we will sing:

No more we doubt thee, glorious Prince of life;
life is naught without thee; aid us in our strife;
make us more than conquerors, through thy deathless love:
bring us safe through Jordan to thy home above.

And that is what we are here today celebrating. Joan's release from her various illnesses, and her escape to her home above.