These memories are all addressed to Mum:
Although our father often wanted us children to live up to his sometimes unattainable expectations, you had only two expectations for us: that we would be happy and would grow up caring for one another. Whatever we would have achieved, or not achieved, you would still have been proud of us. I particularly remember the pride you expressed in Blanche when Granny Atkinson died while you were in hospital and I was away from home, and Blanche – then only 12-years-old – had to take on the responsibility of looking after the whole family. Anyway, I think we collectively achieved enough to justify your pride, and you delighted in all those various achievements of ours: whether in playing the piano, or the guitar, or in composing music, or in poetry and prose writing, cartooning, publishing, photography ...
And that sense of pride was much in evidence when you talked about any of your family. Although Covid put a stop to our usual visits, when I would speak to you on the phone, after asking me whether Sheila and I were safe and well, you would ask about each of your grandchildren, and then about your great-grandchildren, eager to hear what they had each been up to. And they, in turn, were so fond of you. As our Christopher said when you died: “I always thought Granny Hall would live forever, and always be there for us.”
••••••••••
Although, looking back, most of our childhood seemed almost idyllic, in reality it wasn’t always like that. One of my earliest memories is of you taking me, Blanche and Peter (he was in his pram) into the Botanic Gardens and sitting on a park-bench, while you tried to hide from us the fact that you were quietly sobbing. And over the years, as the stresses and strains of marital life increased, despite it all you did your utmost to create a warm, nurturing home for us children. And, in the funeral parlour, as I looked at your face, so calm and youthful-looking, I said to you: “Mum, you are at peace now; all those difficult times are over. I really hope that when we – your children and your grandchildren – talked to you in the hospital, you could hear us and were warmed by our love, and only remembered the good times.”
••••••••••
Our family’s love of nature and the outdoors was undoubtedly instilled in us by you and father, and reinforced by our frequent trips into the countryside or the seaside. Our family’s ability to accept other people without prejudice was also attributable to you both. And you also tried to instil a pride in our Irish heritage, such as by sending Blanche and I to Irish dancing classes. Our humanist, religion-free, and socialist upbringing allowed us to escape the sectarian attitudes so tragically prevalent in this society. Indeed, I can recall the time when my primary school teacher, on finding that we didn’t have a Bible in our house, made me stand for over an hour facing the corner of the room. Upon hearing of this you hurriedly put on your coat and were about to dash to the school to confront this bigoted individual but father stopped you, and we handled the matter another way.
••••••••••
Mum, today we’re living in a time of ‘NHS heroes‘, and our whole family have really appreciated the care and compassion the doctors and nurses showed you during your last few weeks. But you always had your own ‘NHS hero’ – Dr Black, our family doctor. I remember how much you relied on him. I can recall the time when I was outside playing ‘cowboys and indians’ and was accidentally hit on the head with a hatchet – a real hatchet! – and I came into the house with blood pouring down my face. You ran with me to his surgery (which was close by on the Ormeau Road), and as he was attending to me you said anxiously: “Dr Black, Michael faints very easily.” He had looked at you, and, in his soft reassuring voice, calmly replied: “Mrs, Hall, the person closest to fainting here is you... so please sit down and relax.”
Michael