Peg's funeral

My nearly 90-year-old Aunty Peggy died on 16 September, probably while she was watching the Pope's arrival here - they found her with the television on.

Today was her funeral, well attended. Her surviving four children, along with her eight grandchildren arrived from three continents to celebrate her life at the parish church that she and Uncle Jack had attended since around 1968 when they moved to that small town. My #5 cousin said that Peg had been the heart of the family, that many had seen her as a mother, and indeed she was. When I was very small, I had to stay with her although she already had four children, for three weeks because my father was seriously ill in hospital. Aunty Peggy treated me like one of her own, even though I was her husband's niece, not hers. Years later she reminded me how's she'd washed my hair, and been startled by my screaming - I was always scared that the soap would go in my eyes and sting. She brought up five children, carried on mothering them till she was in her eighties.

My octogenarian mother came to the funeral, saw her sister-in-law buried with Jack. Of that generation, my mother and her sister remain, both frail, saddened and becoming lonelier. Aunty Peggy was active, not frail, but planning another trip to follow her three holidays last year, including a cruise with my cousin round Norway, getting trapped by the Icelandic volcanic eruption and choosing to trek for two days overland home. She had to get home; she had a wedding to go to.

She was inspiring! I hope when I'm ninety I can do as much.