Thursday June 9th 2016

Nan was born in 1914, daughter to a former Metropolitan Policeman who had, along with 7 other colleagues, been seconded to guard ammunition at a Royal Artillery depot in Dover at the outbreak of the First World War. She was born in Surrey, but soon moved to Dover living in Dover was all she remembered.

This is a shot of her, her father is in civvies with the flat cap, sitting astride a cannon at the RA depot in Old Folkestone Road as its now called. The gateposts are still there, but the building is now used by Customs and Excise. She must have been somewhere between eight and ten here, putting the shot from the early 1920s.

She was a keen sportswoman in her youth, playing tennis at the newly constructed Crabble Sportsground. It seems that there was romance brewing between her and a friend called Will. There are several shots of them, along with her Father in her collection of photos. Sadly, he became a priest and so we will never know if they would have been happy with each other. They remained friends until he died a few years agao.

Her father was born in the middle of the 19th century to a couple of probable drunkards, but thanks to the philanthropy of some benefactors, they set up an institution called The Ragged Schools, and it was through this that Frederick Jones was educated, and at the end of his education, his headmaster wrote a letter to the Metropolitan Police vouching for his character and conduct. Thanks to this he joined the police, and lifted himself out of poverty, and his family and descendants too.

Nan grew up in Dover, and her Mother made sure she attended a Nanny's course in London, and it was through this that she moved away and became Nanny to some of the great and good families of the minor British establishment.

Nan went on to have a daughter, once she married. But outlived her (and Jools' Mother) as well as all three of her husbands, as well as almost all of her friends.

She was 101 and two thirds years old when she died at the end of May, and left no children, three grandchildren and two great-grandchildren.

So, Thursday was the time when Nan's life reached closure, and we got our chance to say one last goodbye. I had the day off work and after the first coffee of the day, I went out for a haircut, where I tried to explain to my manger why the Brexit vote was so important, and if just for his kid's sake he vote to stay in. He listened and said, I'm gonna vote out because I don't trust eny of 'em, which I suppose is a very good reason, only that it might hurt his kids as they grow up. However, we shall see.

Once that was done, I drive back home for a shower and get dressed ready for the events of the day. Jools is to go in the limo, so I drop her off in Whitfield and drive to the Crematorium in Denton to wait for the rest to arrive.

As I said, Nan was 101 when she died, and outlived just about everyone she knew and those that might be alive would be too frail to travel anyway. So, we were not expecting many people to come, even with the notice in the local paper last week. Some distant relations came from Surrey and Norfolk, and a few elderly people from the local bowls club came too, but as they said, Nan was so old they only just knew her. So, I suppose there were about 30 of us in the end, family and friends.

We filed in behind the coffin, took our seats and listened to the secular opening, then sang out Jerusalem by William Blake, which happens to the the one hymn I would have played at my final curtain too. We prayed, sang All Things Bright and Beautiful, then the curtains closed and that was that.

We filed out, looked at the few simple flower arrangements, spoke to each other of our memories, and that was that.

Tony had arranged for an event, not really a wake as such, at the hotel in Whitfield. So, we drove in convoy to the Ramada for some wine and sandwiches. We do a second round of food before someone says they have to go, then we follow them out the door and back home.

As I have said before, its not that we wished Nan dead at any point, but she had no real quality of life, so for her to go was something of a relief. But now that she has gone, there are the ends to tie up, so on Friday, we shall be visiting banks and building societies to inform them of Nan's death and put more wheels in motion. It would be simple if Nan had everything at the one bank, but no. THere are six places to call at, so this will take some time.

After a rest, some tea and some music on the wireless we decide to go out to get some sunshine to bring some warmth into this sad day. Sandwich Bay is many things; an affront to a free and open society says this socialist; a stretch of privately owned land and beach, that the commoner must pay £7 to the Lord to gain entry. It does, however, mean the rare orchids and broomrapes that grow there are very well protected. Saying that, even with all this, a Lizard Orchid an a square metre of soil was stolen last year.

We arrive there after six, and there is no guard on duty, so we can drive to The Strand and down to the far end where the orchids and other rare plants grown freely. Its still ealry for the Lizards, but in sheltered places there are some good flowering spikes. I take shots, move on to some more, take more shots, then one final stop, take more shots. And that is that.

We drive back home along the narrow bay road, past the bird reserve, two more golf courses and into Deal. The seaside town look glorious in the warm light at the end of a fine summer afternoon. We drive back home and I prepare dinner; leftovers consisting of cold chicken goujons, cold rice with chili sauce and mayonnaise mixed in. Was better than it sounded.

So, the day is over, Nan is gone And tomorrow life goes on.