A beautiful tribute from Cousin Rev Gary Homewood To begin with, it seems like an impossible thing to do. You have suddenly lost the most wonderful mother imaginable, you can’t begin to put into words how that makes you feel, and then someone says, write it all down anyway, and then we will use your words in the tribute. How do you even begin such a task? You feel completely lost. And then word goes out, and good friends rally, as good friends always do, and suddenly the internet is humming with tributes to your mother, all saying wonderful things about her, and now you have a different problem, an editing problem, trying to fit all those beautiful words, all those moving sentiments, into just one simple, coherent tale of loving. And this is the result. This is Kelly’s tribute to her “beautiful mum”, and Matt’s tribute to the mum he loved and called his “protector and friend”. But it’s also Gill’s tribute, and Lynn’s, and Dee’s, and Penny’s. Among many others. And, between us, we have all manged to say precisely why it is that this lady that we have all come here today to endlessly love and to honour, was, is, and always will be, the very best of us. BUT! Can you really imagine that Judy would be happy with the thought of all her family and friends coming together like this, to talk about her, solemnly, sadly, quietly, and not letting her get a word in? Of course not. She’d much rather that we just had a good chat, a good old two-way chin-wag. If fact, if she had any influence over this service today, by now I would be working my way around the congregation, asking each and every one of you in turn, who wants tea, and who wants coffee? Are you hungry? Would you like some cake? Or a scone? How about some bread pudding? If you don’t fancy it now, I’ll make you up a doggy bag and you can take it home with you. Sound familiar? Of course it does. No one ever went hungry around Judy. So, it’s agreed, then. We’ll have a chat about Judy, our great friend. And we will even give her the last word. But that does mean that we can say pretty much anything we like before that happens, so we can start with Gill at Cavendish Secondary Modern School. She and Judy went there in 1958 when they were about eleven. They went on to be friends for 61 years but how Judy didn’t get Gill expelled is frankly a miracle. Judy would make Gill sneak up to the domestic science room at lunchtimes to light a cigarette off the stove and then hold it in her pocket while she raced down to the girls’ toilet where Judy was waiting for her! Gill talks of coffee bars, learning to dance the twist, and comforting each other when their first boyfriends broke their hearts. And they kept in touch, firm friends, even when they lived on different continents. Dee also met Judy at school when they were thirteen. She also remembers the coffee bars, and the Charles Jewel Youth Club they went to twice a week. When Dee married and moved to Hastings, she was following in Judy’s footsteps, because, at 16, Judy had moved to Hastings to be with Vic’s family, and she and Dee lived just around the corner from each other. They, too, remained firm friends throughout Judy’s life, and in more recent years Judy would visit Dee every Friday for a coffee and a natter. Which is interesting, because Lynn, a friend of 33 years, always looked forward to Friday afternoons and the tea and the chat that she had with Judy, and Penny, her cousin, would meet up with Judy at Hilliers Garden Centre, for a coffee and a chat, and a good rummage through Pavers shoe shop, so, clearly, when Judy wore out one friend she would simply move on to the next one! And, I need hardly say, that Gill, Dee, Lynn and Penny all tell exactly the same tale of a loving and selfless and generous person who was always doing something, somewhere, for someone, but who found it very hard to let others help her. Penny and Judy even adopted each other as honorary sisters, which, as Penny’s brother, I’ve decided to find charming. Now we need to leapfrog over Vic and marriage – because we will end with that – and come to Matt and Kelly and how they have added so much to the picture we are starting to build up of their mother, as only her children can. Kelly tells us she was selfless, caring and kind, and so organised! And always so proud of her children and their achievements. Always buying you things that you’d never think of yourself which were so incredibly useful. Every birthday card bought and written for the entire year ahead! Christmas presents sometimes bought even as much as two years in advance! Everyone’s larder filled with enough food to withstand a month-long blizzard; and the guardian of an immaculate filling system at Vic’s garage in Ellenslea Road, where Judy was the secretary (and boss!), and kept Vic on his toes! Organized, efficient, fun and silly. And uncontrollably giggly after just a single half-pint of beer. Immaculate. Fiercely protective. A talented artist. A worrier, always making sure that Kelly had reached her destination safely, even when Kelly was in her thirties. A perfect, no, an amazing grandparent. So thoughtful in all the gifts she gathered together to shower on the people she loved. And Kelly remembers her mum spending every penny of her wages on Kelly’s dancing classes, exams, costumes and shoes, and spending every hour God sent making beautiful costumes and props for her competitions (and winning a Best Costume award in the process) – and one day working so late into the night on a costume that she accidentally sewed on a chocolate raisin instead of a sequin. Kelly said “she was more than just my mum, she was my best friend.” And so great to talk to that Kelly’s friends would come and talk things over with Judy rather than with their own parents. “She was always there to listen.” And whenever Judy gave Kelly the freedom to live her own life as a teenager, just as Judy herself had been able to do, Judy would always be there to pick her up and bring her home, making sure she was safe and sound, even if it was two o’clock in the morning! (And Ella will, of course, be afforded that same privilege when her time comes.) And Matt speaks of two broken hearts: his own, and his mother’s, when her Vic, her soul mate, was taken from her. Most poignantly, Matt called his mother “a soft soul,” and that’s just about the most perfect description of her. “You made our home a place of love and softness, a base to run off and experiment before coming home to share with you. You instilled into us a moral framework that would serve us well in a difficult world. You made us happy, strong, taught us to be smart and always to respect our duties. You were my football hooligan in rain or shine on the shooting stick wherever we were. The most loyal person in the world and a secret treasure trove of delicious cooking.” He describes a life that his mother helped him to decide upon, and build, a life which she herself often enjoyed sharing with him. He talks of his cheerleader; he remembers Judy helping him to focus at exam time. He remembers amazing holidays, and Mum convincing Dad to let Matt go on school trips and discover a love for skiing. He remembers A levels, career decisions, and his Mum pulling the family together when Dad had a heart attack. He remembers mum visiting him in Portugal, all her words of encouragement, all the laughs, all the fun, all the friendships. He remembers her undying support, and, best of all, those cuddles that took all the bad things away. Then Matt writes of how Lucas and Izzy think of Nan and Granddad, saying good morning to them both every day, and knowing that they are watched over by them, while, little by little, they themselves learn about these two wonderful people, and become more and more like them. You will note that those sentiments, like many of Matt’s thoughts, are couched in the present tense, not the past. He remembers how Judy struggled to live on after Vic had died. Matt writes to his mother, “Like a Juliet to your Romeo, you couldn’t stand the thought of life without VJ and so the story of tragic romance unfolded and you found him again.” And then Matt writes of the future. “Whisper to me when you can, guide my choices, nudge my judgements, send me signs. I have some work to do here but will see you again. Get my hugs ready, build a bug garden, make some steak and kidney pie. I feel you in the warmth of the sun breaking the clouds and I feel you in my heart, always.” I think we all want to say that; that there is something so precious about Judy that we cannot bear to part with her. We simply don’t want to let her go. But Matt, remember, is writing to his mother, not just to her memory. And Kelly writes “I have been extremely lucky to have had two incredible people as my parents. I will miss them both so very very much but every day I realise that I think like them and things around me remind me of them constantly. They will live on within my brother and I and our children, and if we can be even half of the people they were then that would be really something.” Judy and Vic are speaking to their children through their hearts and their memories. They are answering their questions, guiding them, moulding them, loving them more than words can say. Even now. But how can this be, you ask? Is death not the end of all things? I would say no. It’s not. It’s a new beginning, a new life, in a world that is so unlike the one we live in, and so wonderful, so unimaginably perfect, that we give it a special name, Heaven, and we worship the God who gave it to us. And it is there that Judy and Vic are together again, two souls entwined for ever, quite literally so, because now they live in a world where there is no pain, no sorrow, no more suffering, no more parting, only love and happiness, and it is there, in this place of new beginnings, where, one day - not now, but in the fullness of time - we shall all be together again. But that’s not the end of the tribute just yet. There’s so much we could talk about, but to include everything would take a lifetime. So, some more edited highlights. Like the fact that Judy, like her Dad before her, was a devoted fan of Manchester United, which is probably why David Beckham winked at her, once. Or the fact that she loved animals, loved riding horses, and went to see every Lassie film they made, and cried when she was watching Spartacus with Matt when he was 8! Or the fact that Judy probably bought a thousand handbags while on holiday. Or the fact that Judy met Vic in a coffee bar in Hailsham in 1961, when Judy was about 14\15. Or that she and Vic built wonderful family homes for their children, first in Birch Way and then at St Helen’s Park Road. Or that Judy was a wonderful gardener. Or that she was good at netball at school (when she wasn’t smoking in the loo), or that Judy trained to be a telephonist before she sorted Vic’s business out for him! (I don’t know why, but I find it hilarious that Judy should have been a telephonist. Can you imagine telling Judy that she had to ring off from every call after 5 seconds? You want the fire brigade. No! Really? Tell me more …) My own father loved Judy. She would always call him Uncle Jim, never just Jim. (The child was always there in the grown woman.) He was in awe of how Judy looked after her mum and dad, Peg and Ken, especially in their final years, when she was ever-present for them, and did everything for them, and emptied the contents of whole supermarkets into their larder for them so that they wouldn’t want for anything. And that was Judy. Time and love enough for everyone. I said that we would end with Judy and Vic and marriage, because I want, if possible, this tribute to end with everyone at least smiling, if not laughing out loud, at the antics of the two wonderful people we are remembering today. And this is how I want to do it. I want to take you all the way back to very near the beginning of that love affair that Matt mentioned between his Romeo and Juliet mum and dad, and the occasion of their wedding, the fiftieth anniversary of which they did indeed finally celebrate together. I danced at their wedding. Judy taught me the Twist in the front room at Annington Road, so I twisted to everything! But weddings are preceded by engagements, and Vic and Judy’s engagement was memorable, to say the least. Vic told me this story, many, many years after the event, and he and Judy couldn’t stop laughing while he did. The great day arrived and Vic decided that this would be the day when he asked the love of his life to marry him. He had no doubt in his mind. This was meant to be. So, he prepared himself, he approached Judy, went down on one knee, and said “Judy, I love you, will you marry me?” to which Judy replied without a moment’s hesitation, “No!” Clearly, Vic had been misbehaving, as only Vic could, probably hoping that that wonderful smile of his would get him out of trouble, as usual. “What do you mean, no? I want to marry you!” “Well you’re not going to,” Judy said, “and that’s that!” “Right,” Vic said, “well, in that case, you leave me no choice.” And he marched straight out of the house and went and laid down in the middle of the road. “What on earth are you doing,” Judy said. “Don’t be stupid. Get up off the road before a car comes along and runs you over.” “No,” Vic said, “I’m staying right here until you say yes.” So, Judy thought it over, probably checked in her diary to see if she had any free time, and then, finally, said “yes”. And the rest, as they say, is history. Which means that Vic was an excellent judge of character. He knew, even then, with all their life together still before them, what we have all been reminded of today. That there is – and there could only ever be - one Judy. And he loved her very deeply. And he knew that they belonged together. And we love her very deeply, too, which is why we are glad, so very glad, that they are together now. So, Judy and Vic, may God bless you both. Two hearts that have become One, and indivisible. We part with you for a while, but we shall be with you again in a glorious new beginning. Until then. In Jesus’ name, Amen.