Not long ago, Mum asked me to tidy up some of her flower baskets as plants that had been growing had died. She wondered what she was doing wrong but I explained that conditions were tough for these plants in central heating and reduced light. She noticed that one plant kept growing when all the others had gone and asked what it was called. When I said, “Ivy,” she laughed out loud and said, “Well, they did name me well then!”
The definition of the ivy plant says that it grows well in difficult conditions and that it is a symbol of love and friendship.
When I think back about Mum’s life – born in 1920 after a World War, growing up in the nineteen twenties and thirties when money was scarce. Marrying in another World War, starting a family in a temporary building. Losing her first born son at only 18 years, her husband when she was only 50 and her first grandchild who was only 20. She suffered two muggings, two vicious dog attacks, a broken hip from a careless jogger, a broken leg from a simple fall and then a stroke. I know this is not a definitive list.
So how did she manage to keep growing in these conditions? It must come down to all the love and friendship in her life – both that she gave out and, therefore, received in plenty.
She grew up with sister Eva and brother Tommy Lawrence, and they were a loving unit all their lives – “Ive” to Eva and “Mate” to Tom.
She grew up in Wood Green and lived there all her life. She and Eva, and best friend Barbara, walked for miles to visit London parks and especially Mum’s favourite Kew Gardens.
She was to find love in an R.A.F. camp near Weston-super-Mare with a man who shared her love of walking in the countryside and married Joseph Eric Marshall in nearby Locking Church. Expecting her first child, she was unable to return to London due to the bombing and so was taken by Joe to his home in Nottingham whilst he was posted around Britain and to the Middle East.
There she met Joe’s only sister, Dorothy, (Dolly, always) who had had her first child a couple of years earlier – Josie. Mum credited Dolly, and her husband, Sam, with making a daunting situation a loving one and they remained dear to her all their lives. Mum was thrilled when little Josie went on to have her first child, Dean, on her birthday. “My Birthday Boy!”
Returning to London, Mum waited three years for a council house – we walked to it on moving day – 126 Rivulet Road was to be her home from then on. (She was only cross that, though situated in Wood Green, the Post Office insisted that it be Tottenham, N17!).
There were to be many dear friends in the street where she was known as “Marsh” or “Mrs Marsha” to the children. A large library at the end of the road was a great bonus – Mum loved reading and poetry especially.
The bitter blow of losing her first born, Tony, to leukaemia at 18 led to Mum being given support from the church. She really appreciated the holy men who helped her then and, as the only one of us not to be confirmed, she took adult confirmation classes. She was never a churchgoer but was to be found in church each week as she cleaned and polished it. She looked after the Vicarage, too, and continued to care for Father Aldis in his retirement – many years in all.
When just over a year later Mum found she was expecting a baby at 44, she was sure this was a gift from God.
When, only six years later, she woke to find her husband of twenty-seven years had died, she had two children still at school to bring up. She rose to that challenge with her brother and sister’s and older childrens’ love and support.
In time, she was able to enjoy holidays with Eva abroad and in ‘Wet Wales’ with Linda and Bob. As time went on, she even managed, at the age of 81, a trip to Australia to see Dolly’s younger daughter, Sandra, and her first grandson, Jack. She managed the Isle of Wight, Paris and Cyprus, too.
During her seventies, Mum happily looked after her granddaughter Lucy every day. Being with children was what she loved most of all. She wouldn’t entertain thoughts of a care home or even a day-centre – “full of old people, no thanks!”
She would go up to North Wales at half-term to mind my daughters and made good friends with a neighbour there – Mary.
Just as she was running out of youngsters, along came Demi to be looked after by Stuart – and then Sasha – so she had little ones in the house throughout her nineties, too.
She was able to stay in 126 for so long with the help of the children she had brought up there because Stuart put his own life on hold when her failing eyesight meant the kitchen became a lethal place. He made sure she was fed and clothes etc cleaned and was there for the carers to do their jobs.
Peter took on the constant hearing-aid problems – trips to hospitals and days out at the park. Christopher ensured the long trips to Nottingham and the seaside continued and his wife, Angela, became a real friend as well as a daughter-in-law.
Angela spent hour after hour at Ivy’s bedside in hospital and pulled her through after the stroke to get her speaking and moving again. Mum’s visits to Wales meant an injection of music that she loved from son-in-law Bob. The music for this service has been chosen by him from the times they shared. She agreed to the naming of a pipe in the Great Organ in Liverpool Cathedral in her memory.
To sum up: the given name “Ivy” could not have been more appropriate. Ivy Ellen, Ive, Mate, Marsh, Mum, Auntie, Nanna, Great Nanna was one very special, inspirational and much loved human being.
We will miss her very much but are so glad to have had her for so long.