The following is the order of service at Joyce's funeral...
Music: Cello Concerto in E minor Opus 85 by Edward Elgar
Welcome and opening words from Jane Morgan, Celebrant
We come together to say farewell to Joyce. To honour her, to pay tribute to her and to celebrate her life.
Joyce died at The Meadow Care Home on 29th November; she was 100. Jo, Daniel and Jonathan were with her and David had only just left. Jo had been with her on the Saturday and they spent time together in the lovely memory room, looking through photos, fashion spreads from over the decades, and Joyce was chatty and articulate.
Joyce had been suffering with Alzheimer’s for many years, but was still able to recognize her family. She enjoyed receiving visitors and even though she was so poorly she still remembered her manners, sat up to greet her guests, engaging with them warmly.
You’d see her face break into a smile whenever she saw her sister Elf or heard her voice. And she was able to eat and drink too, enjoying her puddings and generous slices of cake nearly until the end.
Joyce had had many major illness over the last few years, but she kept bouncing back and you half expected her to do so again this time. So even at her advanced age her death still comes as something of a shock and leaves you with such sadness.
I have spent time with Jo and she has shared some of her thoughts and memories with me so that I can lead our ceremony and talk a little about Joyce’s remarkable life. As a devoted mother to Jo, and son-in-law David, adored grandmother to Daniel and Jonathan; much loved sister to Elf; and fond aunt to Tim and James. We’ll hear some of your words and tributes during our ceremony.
We’ll listen to some of the music Joyce liked too, such as Elgar’s Cello Concerto as we came into the chapel. And later on we’ll take time for reflection as we listen to Dame Janet Baker singing a piece of music to remind us of Joyce’s love of the sea.
We begin our ceremony with the words of Don Paterson, and read for us by Joyce’s great friend Lynwen.
Joyce we say goodbye to you today with love and respect and dedicate our ceremony to you.
Poem: Funeral Prayer by Don Paterson, read by Lynwen
Today we friends and strangers meet
because our friend is now complete.
She has left time. Perhaps we feel
we are ghosts and her the real -
so fixed and constant does she seem,
so starlike. may the human dream
arise again to find her woken
as its heart, though to be spoken
once is as miraculous
as a thousand times. What utters us,
blind nature, told the trees and birds
and bright stars; yet of all the words
we knew, her name was the most dear.
we give thanks she was spoken here.
Eulogy
Their parents were Lamb and Brer. Joyce was Pip, and sometimes ‘and me’, something she’d say if her older siblings would be going off to a dance or a party and she wanted to tag along. Joyce became a nurse, just like Kin before her and Elf later on. She was admitted to the General Nursing Council for England and Wales on 26th November 1948 and became a Registered Mental Nurse by being admitted to the Certificate of the Royal Medico-Psychological Association in 1950.
She had various careers, including working as a night nurse in a care home for elderly people, selling corsetry, was an electrolysis technician, and before nursing she was a kennel maid. Her love of dogs continued throughout her life, especially for Bertie the Labradoodle, the most recent addition to the family, also here today. In later years, even on the days she couldn’t remember the names of family members, she never struggled to remember Bertie.
Joyce met Arno, the love of her life, at a dance. He was a young soldier and 6 years her junior. He had escaped Berlin on the Kindertransport, having been forced to leave his mother and all of his close family behind. Nightmares about his loss persisted for years but Joyce supported him through it. And their daughter was named Johanna after Arno’s much mourned mother.
Joyce had caught his eye but he was too shy to approach her and so he sent her a message on a sugar bag asking her to dance. They married on 27th October 1951. Naturally he came to have a nickname too - Boo for beautiful.
Whilst Joyce was nursing tuberculosis patients she contracted TB. She was dangerously ill and, after having part of one lung removed, was sent to convalesce in Ventnor on the Isle of Wight for nearly a year. Arno needed to work and the only close relatives were in Newport, Monmouthshire. Jo was sent to live with her grandparents and her doting Aunt Elf who was living at the family home whilst working as a nurse.
Her other lovely aunt and her uncle were regular visitors. It must have been devastating to be parted from her husband and small daughter but Joyce coped, as she coped with so much, stoically and with humour.
Once reunited, the family soon left London to live in Southampton where they remained for all of Jo’s schooldays, and Joyce left paid employment to become a full-time mother and home-maker.
Life was busy. She took part in amateur dramatics, baked and cooked – often trying German Jewish recipes to remind Arno of his homeland. Her apple strudel was legendary. She painted works of art, created pewter jewellery, sewed helping Jo create astonishing teenage outfits, and she knitted elaborate clothing. ‘What kind of jumper would you like’ she’d ask her grandsons when they’d visit for half term. ‘I’d like a sailing boat on mine’ one of them might say and sure enough they’d go home with whatever had been requested, no pattern needed.
And when Bertie arrived she knitted him a beautiful cashmere jumper - only the best for Bertie. It’s still being worn by the puppies of Highgate.
Above all she gardened… vegetables, fruit trees, fruit bushes, flowers were all planted and tended. Then there were the wines: her elderberry wine was fine, in small doses. Her famous rose petal wine induced headaches in all but those with very strong constitutions. Joyce’s family miss her dreadfully but no-one is grieving for that rather potent rose petal wine, the recipe now thankfully lost in time – although for those of you brave enough to try it later, a partial bottle of this elixir still remains!
Joyce and Arno moved home several times, always within reach of the south coast and its beaches. Joyce loved the sea yet never learnt to swim and was seasick if she went out on a boat, and so preferred to enjoy the view from the safety of the shore. They loved to travel too and trips to the USA were a particular highlight. The picture you have on your booklet shows her climbing up the ruins of the Mesa Verde.
In the 1970s Joyce’s nursing skills were called on again as she took into the family home her older sister for whom she cared during a long illness from which she died. Later she went on to be the carer for Arno who developed renal failure. He died in 2009 and for Joyce the light had gone from her life.
She missed him painfully. She was greatly helped through her bereavement by her neighbours and good friends, the late Will and Pat, who remains a family friend even now.
Joyce decided to move from Worthing back to London to live near Jo and David and she was lucky enough to meet a new friend, also from Wales, called Jill.
They had many adventures: catching wrong buses and getting lost in north London. Striding through the Wood to visit Jo. And enjoying regular coffee outings with both Jill and Jill’s daughter Lynwen, who became such a great friend to Joyce and to Jo.
Joyce was also lucky enough to receive part-time help from a wonderful carer, Julie, who is with us here today. Julie last visited Joyce two days before she died and one of the last things Joyce said to her was ‘Don’t forget me’. I don’t imagine any of you will.
During the last two years of her life Joyce received wonderful care from The Meadow Care Home. Jo and the family would like to thank both Julie and the Meadow team for all that they did to ease the way for Joyce.
Joyce seemed determined to make it to 100 and on August 8th and many of you here gathered to celebrate with her. It was a perfect day. The sun was out but not too hot. A guitarist played many old favourites and all the ladies and gents with Alzheimer’s were able to remember them, and sing along. Joyce was surrounded by those she loved and especially thrilled that her nephews and niece-in-law came to celebrate too. And there was an amazing cake made by her niece-in-law Sandra and a card from Her Majesty.
Just a few short weeks ago Jo arrived one afternoon at The Meadow Care Home to find Joyce and fellow residents taking part in one of their regular exercise sessions. Most were seated, but Joyce was standing, albeit with help and support. Moving legs gently from side to side and stretching the arms wasn’t easy but she tried.
In a stage whisper Joyce bellowed to Jo: “That woman keeps saying ‘perfect’ every time we do something. But we’re none of us perfect; it’s ridiculous. I mean, just look at us all…we’re hopeless.” Then she burst out laughing.
It summed her up: determined; recognising she wasn’t perfect; but having a go anyway; and with an ability to laugh at it all…
Memories of Grandma by Daniel Morgan
You probably knew her as Joyce or Pip, but for us – for Jonathan and me – she was always Little Grandma. Her littleness was, somehow, inextricably linked to her cakes and her kindness. She was always the most generous member of the family, never willing to accept, despite all the evidence that her beloved grandchildren were anything but exemplary beings, capable of no wrong.
My earliest memories are with my grandparents – pretending to be Charlie Chaplin on the bandstand in Waterlow Park and kicking up leaves on walks in Brighton.
They lived in a bungalow that was full of curious things we didn’t have at home: toast racks, wooden elephants, and a noisy brass clock that you had to wind. Jonathan and I spent endless summer days with them in their garden digging in the mud and collecting insects in boxes.
We learned some very important life lessons from grandma. She taught us how to plant trees and pick fruit. She introduced us to the virtues of spam. But probably the most important thing I learned from her – one that will stay with me for the rest of my life – is that you don’t have to wash your hands after you pee. A major revelation at the age of seven.
In recent years, as her memory failed, she sometimes thought I was her nephew Tim. Or else, her son-in-law David. On one memorable occasion, she called me Napoleon. I think, again, it was a sign of her belief that her grandchildren were capable of anything – including invasions of Russia.
Despite the name Little Grandma, she was, as long as I knew her, inconceivably old. For 32 years she has been an unassailable and seemingly unchangeable constant in my mental topography. As a result, I was never fully aware of her actually getting older. And although she moved from the South Coast and came to London, in my mind she was always somehow in the bungalow in Goring doing the Times crossword, making a Sunday roast or planting the vegetable patch. Even two weeks ago when I was booking a last-minute flight back from India, it didn’t really seem possible that would actually die. It will take a very long time to get used to the fact that she is no longer here.
Music: Sea Slumber Song from Sea Pictures by Edward Elgar with words by Roden Noel, sung by Dame Janet Baker
Poem - Do not Stand at My Grave and Weep chosen by Elf and read by Elf’s son, Tim
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
Closing words
We have remembered Joyce’ life with love and respect and our ceremony is coming to a close.
On behalf of Joyce’s family I’d like to thank you all for coming together to say goodbye to Joyce. And I in turn thank them for giving me the honour of leading our ceremony, one that has celebrated the rich and remarkable life of a woman who has touched the lives of many and is much loved and will be much missed.
It is very hard to believe that you won’t see her anymore; despite her advanced age it was still somehow unexpected. She was such an integral part of your lives.
Jo, Elf, David, Daniel and Jonathan would like to thank you for the messages of sympathy and the support given by friends and family at this sad time. The family also extends grateful thanks to: Julie, Joyce’s carer whilst she lived independently and who remains a dear friend to us all; to MHA’s The Meadow Care Home; Muswell Hill GP Practice, especially Dr Christian and Dr Hill; and to Roz and the team at North London Hospice.
Its time now for us to leave the chapel and move back outside, into the winter sunshine and onwards, where our lives continue, with sorrow that you will no longer see Joyce but glad of heart too that you have had her for so long.
And if you wish you are invited to make a donation in Joyce’s memory to the North London Hospice who gave us so much invaluable support in Joyce’s final week; or to Methodist Homes Association whose staff and management at The Meadow provided a home, care and friendship during the past two years. And there is in fact a resident’s party going on as we speak, so they celebrate Joyce too. https://joyce-jacobius.muchloved.com
Joyce herself would have said: “What on earth is all this fuss? You know I don’t like a fuss. Everyone should just carry on…” And of course we will, sustained by the memories that we’ve heard today, and the many more that will have been evoked, and in that way she never leaves you.
We won’t be seeing Joyce leave and so as you as her you may wish to say your own last farewell. And we’ll listen to our last piece of music - Jupiter, The Bringer of Jollity from The Planets by Gustav Holst - first performed in 1918, the year of Joyce’s birth.
Music: Jupiter, The Bringer of Jollity from The Planets by Gustav Holst