June my beloved auntie.

I had met you as very young when the whole family visited us in Sweden. You came in the bus, with beds and we kids loved to be there. When I was 14 I stayed in Elstead the whole summer in order to develop my English. You were like a mother to me or more. I recall mother telling me that you phoned her and asked if you could adopt me – off course you didn’t mean it literally. We liked each other. You were my favorite auntie. Though you didn’t want me to call you auntie - it sounded so old!

Once we came with our three children to Elstead and were greeted by your hospitality, wonderful food, Peter and Mats going to the pub, you and me talking. You had just begun spinning at that time. You span, I talked. You shared your youth with my mother, we were close relatives at the same time the relation between a niece and an auntie can be freer, there are no demands, disappointments or worries. You were a good listener and had a warm heart, making me feel at home, without sacrificing yourself, still keeping your integrity and developing your artistic sides.

The last time a saw you was in September 2005. I had just divorced. You looked as beautiful as always. We had a lovely week together. Going to Lands end with Peter, you and I to Tate museum in St Ives, drinking tea, talking and talking, picking blackberries, staying in your beautiful farmhouse, nicely renovated, eating your wonderful food, drinking a whiskey with Peter and the neighbors in the afternoon .

I miss you a lot but I now live in Maya land so I learnt that the energy from the ancestors is always with us. We are inspired or affected by ancestors who lived 1000 years ago, transferring culture and attitudes by each generation to the next.

I have only wonderful, good memories of you and there is a room in my heart where I keep them,

All the best your niece Susanne

Funeral Service for June

Held at Germoe Parish Church - 9th May 2008

Introduction and Prayer

‘She comes with mother's kindnesses’

She comes with mother's kindnesses

and bends to touch and heal.

She gives her heart away in love

for those who cannot feel.

She comes with lover's tenderness

to answer love's appeal.

She gives her body with her heart

to make her passion real.

She comes with worker's faithfulness

to sow and reap and spin.

She bends her back in common task

to gather harvest in.

She comes with artist's joyfulness

to make and shape and sing.

She gives her hands and from them grows

a free and lovely thing.

She comes, a child in humbleness

and trust is in her eyes.

And through them all of life appears

in wondering surprise.

She comes with sister's carefulness

strong to support and bind.

Her voice will speak for justice' sake

and peace is in her mind.

She comes with power like the night

and glory like the day.

Her reign is in the heart of things –

Oh come to us and stay.

by Kathy Galloway who wrote this about the Holy Spirit in the feminine.

Tributes:

- daughter Jan

- husband Peter

- all who loved her

Silence, while we think of our own personal memories of June.

- the grandchildren

Giles

Candles lit on behalf of the grandchildren & great-granddaughter, Lily

- with music ‘Thank you for the Days’ chosen by the family of son Andrew

An extract from ‘The Summer Book’

by Tove Jansson – read by Joan

- chosen for her mischievous Granny by Sarah

- extended family and friends

Carol

Blanket of Friendship - The blanket is a precious and treasured hand-woven piece of work, designed and made by a dear lifelong friend, Joan Wigley.

A Special Prayer

Christ our true mother,

you have carried us within you,

laboured with us,

and brought us forth to bliss.

Enclose us in your care,

that in stumbling we may not fall,

Nor be overcome by evil,

but know that all shall be well.

Amen

ALL: The Lord’s my shepherd (Psalm 23)

The Lord’s my Shepherd, I’ll not want.

He makes me down to lie

in pastures green;

He leadeth me the quiet waters by.

My soul he doth restore again,

and me to walk doth make

within the paths of righteousness,

e’en for his own name’s sake.

Yea, though I walk in death’s dark vale,

yet will I fear no ill.

For thou art with me; and thy rod

and staff my comfort still.

My table thou hast furnishèd

in presence of my foes,

my head thou dost with oil anoint,

and my cup overflows.

Goodness and mercy all my life

shall surely follow me.

And in God’s house for evermore

my dwelling-place shall be.

Reading

John Ch14 v1-4 In my Father's house are many dwelling places

Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also. And you know the way to the place that I am going.

Address

Rev’d Dorothy Noakes

Prayers

written by daughter Jess

Prayers of thanks

Prayers of mourning

Prayers of readiness

The Lord’s Prayer:

Our Father, who art in heaven,

hallowed be thy name;

thy kingdom come;

thy will be done;

on earth as it is in heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread.

And forgive us our trespasses,

as we forgive those who

trespass against us.

And lead us not into temptation;

but deliver us from evil.

For thine is the kingdom,

the power and the glory,

for ever and ever.

Amen.

Commendation and Farewell

The Committal

The Dismissal

Hymn ALL: Go, silent friend

(tune: Danny Boy)

1. Go, silent friend, your life has found its ending;

to dust returns your weary mortal frame.

God, who before birth called you into being,

now calls you hence, his accent still the same.

Go, silent friend, your life in Christ is buried;

for you he lived and died and rose again.

Close by his side your promised place is waiting

where fully known, you shall with God remain.

2. Go, silent friend, forgive us if we grieved you;

safe now in heaven, kindly say our name.

Your life has touched us, that is why we

mourn you;

our lives without you cannot be the same.

Go, silent friend, we do not grudge you glory;

sing, sing with joy deep praises to your Lord.

You, who believed that Christ would come

back for you,

now celebrate that Jesus keeps his word.

________________________

Private woodland burial to follow at Penwith Woodland Burial Place.

________________________

Copies of the content of this celebration are available by the Church door with the ‘Shared Memory Book’. Please take some time to share your memories and thoughts about June in our Shared Memories Book on your way out.

Thanks to Georgia, Milly, Clod, Lucy, Ed, Will, Buzz, Laura, Jenna, Lucy, John, Pat, Rob & Gary and the community in Carsluick, whose contributions and involvement have been integral to the creation of this celebration of June’s life, but whose names do not appear in this service sheet.

Daughter-in-law Lynne designed the candle arrangement for the grandchildren to light.

The violinists are ‘Melegari Duo’ - Charlotte Cottrell & Lucy Melhuish.

Soloist – Shirley Tyack

© The Archbishops' Council of the Church of England, 2000-2006

‘She comes with mother’s kindnesses’

- words by Kathy Galloway, music by Gordon Slater

- © words Kathy Galloway © music Oxford University Press.

The Special Prayer is a Collect from ‘All Desires Known’ by Janet Morley

The Lord’s my shepherd - Psalm 23 from ‘The Scottish Psalter’ (1650)

‘Go, silent friend’ © 1996 Words and arrangement WGRG, The Iona Community

Celtic prayers by John Bell Iona Community

Tribute from Daughter Jan

Mum had said to me several times over the past couple of months that she was ready to go. She said she had had a lovely life – had lived longer than she expected.

I feel that today should be a celebration of her life – not a sad occasion. She was such an energetic person, always keen to try new things and to take up new hobbies – it must have been very difficult for her to be so restricted by her illness.

Mum loved her family and it is a great comfort to me that she saw her grandchildren grow into the lovely adults they are – and that not only did she live to see the birth of her first great grandchild – she also lived long enough to help celebrate Lily’s first birthday. We were able to spend two “4 generation” Mothering Sundays together in Cornwall.

Mum and Dad have been married for 56 years and although it will be hard for us all and we will all miss her dreadfully – I like to think that she will be looking over us and will be with us all in spirit to support and comfort us.

Eulogy for June by husband Peter

We are here today to celebrate the life of my wife June May, who died peacefully on Wednesday the 30^th April 2008.

That morning, from 7.00am to 9.00am, I spent a quiet two hours with June, after our daughter Judith, who had nursed June with great care and devotion for several weeks, had made her mother comfortable, and then left us alone, to say our goodbyes.

I was looking at a very sick and frail little old lady, close to eighty years of age.

My mind immediately recalled the lovely, vivacious young woman that I had met in 1947, and married in 1952, sixty one years ago.

All sorts of thoughts and memories cascaded through my mind, ever more of them, ever more quickly, like melting snow from a mountain.

The space of sixty one years, in two hours, by this time I was quite distressed by what I saw, and I asked why? Why this deterioration? Why all this wear and tear? Is it fair?

And then I thought, what about me? At 84 years of age I cannot do much and I do not reflect very well in a mirror. I cannot lift things. I can no longer use a shovel or a spade. But at 84, most people are in a similar state, and I happen to be particularly lucky.

So, what is the problem? The answer is that there is no problem. This situation is absolutely normal. The design of the human species is, on average, three score years and ten, or seventy years, give or take a few.

By 11.45am June’s breathing was poor, and at 12.10pm, I was sitting alone with her, as she slipped quietly away.

She was not afraid to die.

I liken the process to the unpacking of a parcel. The contents of the parcel are taken out and, and the wrappings, which have done their job are discarded. The contents of the parcel are not worn out, or discarded, they carry on, perhaps we know them as the spirit, or the soul, and they carry on to complete the mission for which they are destined, perhaps as memory?

When I realised that man’s purpose in life was limited to some seventy years each, I could see that one must examine those seventy years of any one individual. In June’s case, there is an abundance of information, with regard to her activities during that span of years.

Firstly she was a person, a person of great integrity and compassion. This enabled her to be a first class wife, mother, grandmother, and great grandmother. She loved children, she was very artistic and loved pottery, at which she was very proficient.

Then she equally loved spinning and weaving. When her disabilities prevented that, she returned to one of her earlier loves, embroidery, even this she could no longer do.

She loved swimming, cooking, gardening. She loved nature, friends, history, and she loved being - June - .

During my quiet two hours with June, just before she died, it became clear to me that June’s reason for being on this earth, had been fulfilled, and it had quite properly taken eighty years, although why she had to suffer so much in order to exit this world is not understood.

What is understood is that she did contribute her full measure to the human race.

I am particularly proud, because so many many people have commented, “she was such a lovely person”, and she was.

She is now at peace.

Granny Mays House by grandson Giles

Granny Mays house was a home for us all

The succulent aromas from the kitchen, meant something was in the aga

The fully laden table of crockery, and something homemade in a jar

The cupboards were filled with all you could imagine

From grannies proper honey to grandads straw bales! - Not to mention the cake tin!

Thick and tasty homemade soups that could fix a cold

Sunday roast was a time to rejoice, for family and friends, and others who were lucky

Only one granny but so much food, you would never go hungry.

Granny Mays house always had field fresh towels and linen

The tucked in extra top sheet that you could squeeeeeze into

The huge duvet that that you could get lost in

The luxurious feather pillows that took away your troubles

You’d get a good nights sleep at grannies!

Granny Mays house was warm and inviting

With the log fire a blaze and the kettle on

With a listening ear and a big heart, you could talk to granny

With firm advice and a gentle touch you would have your answers

Some answers grandad had his opinion on

But granny would wink, and we would know who was right!

Every grandchild will have their own special memories

As these are just a few, and granny had much to share

But to each and everyone of us, she was Granny May

An extract from ‘The Summer Book’ by Tove Jansson

– a Finnish story about a grandmother and her granddaughter, chosen by Sarah, for her grandmother on behalf of June’s grandchildren

The Pasture

Sophia asked her Grandmother what Heaven looked like, and Grandmother said it might be like the pasture they were just then walking by, on their way to the village over on the mainland. They stopped to look. It was very hot, the road was white and cracked, and all the plants along the ditch had dust on their leaves. They walked into the pasture and sat down in the grass, which was tall and not a bit dusty. It was full of bluebells and cat’s-foot and buttercups.

“Are there ants in Heaven?” Sophia asked.

“No,” said Grandmother, and lay down carefully on her back. She propped her hat on her nose and tried to sneak a little sleep. Some kind of farm machinery was running steadily and peacefully in the distance. If you turned it off – which was easy to do – and listened only to the insects, you could hear thousands of millions of them, and they filled the whole world with rising and falling waves of ecstasy and summer. Sophia picked some flowers and held them in her hand until they got warm and unpleasant; then she put them on her grandmother and asked how God could keep track of all the people who prayed at the same time.

“He’s very, very smart,” Grandmother mumbled sleepily under her hat.

“Answer really,” Sophia said. “How does He have time?”

“He has secretaries…”

“But how does He manage to do what you pray for if He doesn’t get time to talk to the secretary before it’s too late?”

Grandmother pretended to be asleep, but she knew she wasn’t fooling anyone, and so finally she said that He’d made it so nothing bad could happen between the moment you prayed and the moment He found out what you prayed for. And then Sophia wanted to know what happened if you prayed while you were falling out of a tree and you were halfway down.

“Aha,” said Grandmother, perking up. “In that case He makes you catch on a limb.”

“That is smart,” Sophia admitted. “Now you get to ask. But it has to be about Heaven.”

“Do you think all the angels wear dresses, so no one can tell what kind they are?”

“What a dumb question! You know they all wear dresses. But now listen carefully; if one of them wants to know for sure what kind another one is, he just flies under him and looks to see if he’s wearing pants.”

“I see,” Grandmother said. “That’s good to know. Now it’s your turn.”

“Can angels fly down to Hell?”

“Of course. They might have all sorts of friends and neighbours down there.”

“Now I’ve got you!” Sophia cried. “Yesterday you said there wasn’t any Hell!”

Grandmother was annoyed and sat up much too quickly. The whole pasture started spinning around her. She waited for the giddiness to stop.

“And I say exactly the same thing today,” she said. “But this is just a game.”

“It’s not a game! It’s serious when you’re talking about God!”

“He would never do anything so dumb as make a Hell.”

“Of course He did.”

“No He didn’t!”

“Yes He did! A big enormous Hell!”

“Sophia,” she said, “this is really not something to argue about. You can see for yourself that life is hard enough without being punished for it afterwards. We get comfort when we die, that’s the whole idea.”

“It’s not hard at all!” Sophia shouted. “And what are you going to do about the Devil, then? He lives in Hell!”

For a moment Grandmother considered saying that there was no Devil either, but she didn’t want to be mean. The farm machinery was making a terrible racket. She walked back towards the road and stepped right in a cowpat. Her grandchild was not behind her.

“Sophia,” called Grandmother, “I said you could have an orange when we got to the shop…”

“An orange!” said Sophia contemptuously. “Do you think people care about oranges when they’re talking about God and the Devil?”

Grandmother poked the cow dung off her shoes with her walking stick as well as she could.

“My dear child,” she said, “with the best will in the world I cannot start believing in the Devil at my age. You can believe what you like, but you must learn to be tolerant.”

“What does that mean?” asked the child sullenly.

“That means respecting other people’s convictions.”

“What are convictions?” Sophia screamed and stamped her foot.

“Letting others believe what they want to believe!” her grandmother shouted back. “I’ll let you believe God damns people and you let me not.”

“You swore,” Sophia whispered.

“I certainly did not.”

“You did too. You said ‘Goddamns’.”

They were no longer looking at each other. Three cows came down the road, swishing their tails and swaying their heads. They passed slowly by in a swarm of flies and walked on towards the village, with the skin on their rear ends puckering and twitching as they went. Then they were gone, leaving nothing but silence.

Finally Sophia’s grandmother said, “I know a song you don’t know.” She waited for a minute, and then she sang – way off-key because her vocal chords were crooked:

Cowpats are free,

Tra-la-la

But don’t throw them at me.

Tra-la-la

For you too could get hit

Tra-la-la

With cow shit!

“What did you say?” Sophia whispered, because she couldn’t believe her ears. And Grandmother sang the same really awful song again.

Sophia climbed over the ditch and started towards the village.

“Papa would never say ‘shit,’” she said over her shoulder. “Where did you learn that song?”

“I’m not telling,” Grandmother said.

They came to the barn and climbed the stile and walked through the Eriksson’s barnyard, and before they got to the shop under the trees, Sophia had learned the song and could sing it just as badly as her grandmother.

On behalf of extended family and friends – by Carol

The tapestry of our lives is just like this blanket, a precious and treasured hand-woven piece of work, designed and made by Joan Wigley – a dear lifelong friend.

Just as June wove the threads of her life amongst her friends in Surrey, Carsluick and Cornwall and indeed all over the country (and the world), our memories of June are held together in our own quilt of laughter, joy, hospitality and sheer enthusiasm.

There was no one better to share the delight of something new – a dress, or a pair of shoes (especially if my husband Pat didn’t yet know that I’d bought them!). Her eyes would light up and she would want to touch, feel and then see me in the whole outfit. “Ooooh!” she would say, “How exciting!”

She loved a good joke – the ruder the better – and she would roar with laughter. Pat would sometimes phone her up with a joke especially because he thought she would enjoy it.

Her talents for cooking, sewing, weaving, gardening were endless and renowned and if any of us needed to talk something through, we would always go and see June.

I’m sure we all remember her too as surely the most glamorous seventy-something person in the world! I know that all of us here remember her gorgeous purple ensemble that she wore one Christmas and so I’m going to finish with a Warning from Jenny Jepson that June liked to remind us about now and then:

Warning
When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people's gardens
And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.
_____

You can cry and close your mind, be empty and turn back or
You can do what she’d want: smile, open your eyes, love and go on.

So please, there are many things for us to do and lots of ways to grow.
So get busy, be happy and live your lives.
Miss her, but let go.