Your sons and their families did you proud Mau. 🥰 They organised everything. Stephen's memories were beautiful, and wow, your poem Stuart. Brilliant. It was also lovely to meet and spend time with their families. We partied, 🥳 just as you wanted us to. You had a great send off. Love you Mau 💜XXX

Mau was my little, big sister. I spent a lot of time with Mau and the lads in my teenage years. No exotic holidays abroad then. One holiday was spent in a holiday cottage, (more of a tin shack), on the coast road. Mau liked the sun and that place was a sun trap. We had a great time exploring the local area and playing board games. (I remember Stuart getting in a strop and upsetting the board because he was losing). When Mau moved away we never lost touch and still had girly weekends. One time she persuaded me to go to a night club at the end of the night. I just wanted to go home but Mau was the life and soul, as always. I pity those up there Mau, they'll have no rest now. Love you Mau Anne XXX

I sat on the floor next to Mum the night before she passed away, holding her hand and read her this poem/limerick, afterwards she smiled and said “that was lovely” . I know that was the last time I will see you smile Mum but it will be with me forever whenever I think of you and wherever I am ❤️ Here follows the poem. Note from a 70-year old: To those who ask: I’m Fine Thanks There is nothing the matter with me, I’m as healthy as I can be, I have arthritis in both my knees, And when I talk, I talk with a wheeze. My pulse is weak, and my blood is thin, But I’m awfully good for the shape I‘m in. Arch supports I have for my feet, Or I wouldn’t be able to be on the street, Sleep is denied me every night, But every morning I feel alright; My memory is failing, my head’s in a spin, But I’m awfully well for the shape I’m in. The moral is this, as this tale I unfold, That for you and for me who are growing old, It’s better to say “I’m fine” with a grin, Than to let folks know the shape we are in. How do I know that my youth is all spent? Well, my get up and go, has got up and went! But I really don’t mind when I think with a grin, Of all the great places my get up has been; Old age is golden I have heard it said, But sometimes I wonder as I get into bed, With my ears in a drawer, my teeth in a cup, My eyes on the table when I wake up; Ere sleep comes to me, I say to myself, Is there anything else I should lay on the shelf? When I was younger my slippers were red, I could kick my heels right over my head; When I grew older my slippers were blue, But still I could dance the whole night through; Now I’m old, my slippers are black, I walk to the store and puff my way back. I get up each morning and dust off my wits, Pick up the paper and read the obits. If my name is still missing, I know I’m not dead, So, I get a good breakfast and go back to bed.