My Mother As we know, my mother was a holocaust survivor. In her case, being a survivor didn’t just mean living through the horrors of the war and remaining alive, but it also meant not allowing her experiences to destroy her. It meant living life to the full in the way which her younger brother, her parents and more than 40 other relatives who lost their lives were not able to. I believe that mum’s vitality and zest for life, which infused all of us, were not just elements of her personality, but a conscious response to her circumstances. She told me that she would often lie awake thinking of her brother and her parents – they were always in her heart. The war took away my mother’s belief in God – she became an atheist, though she would say to believers that she was an agnostic so as not to offend them. And she often called herself a humanist. She never lost her faith in humanity. My mother’s love for me and devotion has been the greatest gift of my own life and I’m sure will continue to nurture and inspire me for the rest of my days – her concern for all aspects of my life, her acceptance of who I chose to be and what I chose to do, and her pride in my achievements, real or imaginary. I am so fortunate. My mother’s devotion and concern didn’t stop at me. It extended to family members, some of whom are here, to her friends, to my friends, and to so many people whom she encountered and engaged with. She adored my late partner, Helen, who died so prematurely 15 years ago, and she continued to be in contact with Helen’s mother, Audrey. She embraced Samira as her own daughter and loved to engage with her. When Naser, Samira’s son, joined us from Palestine in 2010, my mother treated him as her first grandchild, and sometimes referred to him as such, though by then he was more of a grandadult. Mum’s eyes would light up whenever she saw him. My mother’s gregariousness seemed boundless. She would make friends and take an interest in the lives of people she met by chance, such as in cafés at Brent Cross, which was a home from home to her. She knew more about some of my friends than I did, storing their phone numbers in her address book, and threatening to invite them around if I didn’t. Her heart warmed to them. She would often talk about her encounters and conversations with people, because so many of these were meaningful to her. She responded to people’s kindness and greatly appreciated the friendship of her Bridge partners and of the residents at Edinburgh House who would look out for her and take an interest in her life. My mother revelled in social occasions and liked to be at the centre of them. Her repository of personal experiences and connections was limitless, as was her eagerness to share these. She was in her element on Xmas day, when there were 16 of us to engage with, including two babies. She greatly enjoyed the family reunion that took place 15 months ago, bringing together relatives from the US and here. And the wonderful photo of her on the invitation to this ceremony was from a family wedding in Bristol. Mum seemed to go against the grain of ageing. The older she became, the more her horizons expanded. She learned to play Bridge in her 60s, undertook courses at the University of the Third Age in her seventies, and formed new friendships right up until the last weeks of her life. She had a natural curiosity and thirst for knowledge. She didn’t have access to the Internet, but she didn’t really need to. She had a dictionary by her side at home and carried a little notebook around with her of new words and expressions that she had learned, and of facts worth remembering. If the anti-terrorist squad was here, they would take a close interest in her, because of references to ‘nitro-glycerine’ and the ‘Peshmerga’ in her notebook. I shouldn’t imagine many of you know when Babylon fell, or the dates of the Mesopotamian era – mum did. Last week I returned six of her books to the library – ranging from Dickens to Attwood. She was an avid reader. Mum had a lot of life left in her before a severe infection – BronchoPneumonia – took hold of her. She didn’t go gently. My last images of her are at the A&E Department of the Royal Free during the final hours of her life, with various tubes and drains attached, unable to speak but fully conscious. All her emotions, all her feelings, everything she wanted to communicate was being expressed through her loving and adoring eyes, fastening on to me and Samira in turn, pleading with us, gesticulating with her hands and grabbing hold of us. She knew what she wanted from us and for us. Even during her last conscious moments – she couldn’t let go of her love and concern for us. That was my mother.

Longing I feel this longing Do you understand that word? Maybe not, so I’ll tell you. It means ...... suffering. I feel it all too well In each cell of my body, I feel it as I would feel, The pain in my head, arm or leg. I may persuade myself That the pain is not in my body To no avail, nothing helps It continues to hurt I see you in my mind But that is so little I know you’re far away Your road fades into the distance Will you return? When will you return? Ever the same question Arising again and again In the daytime, at night, in the morning I am with you in my thoughts I offer them up to you So that no harm comes to you For this I sincerely pray to God In my thoughts I follow the road Borne towards you by the wind, To lighten your suffering And take some of it upon myself

My memories of Marysia On 25th December Marysia was celebrating Christmas with Peter and Samira and their friends. Today 25th January we are saying goodbye to this very special person. Marysia was a popular, well loved lady who lived life to the full. She was a colourful character with an elegant demeanour and a vivacious personality. She had a charming persona and an engaging manner. Marysia was really a socialite. She made an immediate impression on anyone she met. She relished going to parties, she enjoyed meeting new people and mixed well with all age groups. Peter and Samira included her in so much of their life. She went with them to concerts, films, plays, ballets and restaurants. She liked to recall what she had been doing and her Joie de Vivre attitude was a delight. She was an experienced bridge player and an avid reader. In earlier years she had been an accomplished dressmaker and artist. She was a very stylish, chic person. She was strong minded, decisive, resolute, determined to keep fit and healthy for as long as she could. She walked daily, exercised at home and was proud to be able to look after herself with minimal help. Marysia experienced very difficult tragic early years in Nazi occupied Poland resulting in much suffering for her and her family, times that she could never ever forget, times which stayed with her forever as an underlying sadness to her outer exuberant self. Marysia was a survivor. She arrived all on her own in England seventy years ago and succeeded in creating a successful life for herself in spite of everything. She will always be remembered. She will be close to my heart together with my parents who were the only other members of our family in England when she arrived here. Dear Marysia, Rest in Peace