MARJORIE ADELAIDE BULLETT (nee Edwards) 23 July 1936 – 20 November 2017 (81 years)

Mother of Paul and Mandy. Grandmother of Natalia and Paulina. Wife of Dick. Sister of Cedric, Terry, Roger, George, Colin and Martin.

I had set myself a goal to write about mum on would have been her 82^nd birthday. I opened mum’s large yellow notebook where she had been writing her memoirs and on the first page read the title “PAGE 34”. I couldn’t help giggling.

There’s something I always say when I meet someone new and it effortlessly clicks from the start as if you’ve known each other all your life. I always say, it’s as if I’ve already read the first five chapters. You know they’re going to be an important part of your life and yet you don’t need to know if you have anything in common to cement the friendship (favourite music, film, book, taste in fashion, food… - the first five chapters). Those things just don’t matter, it fits and that’s it.

So, “page 34”. Mum was a great story teller and any small thing would remind her of some memory from her life and she would tell it to whoever she had in front of her - relative, close friend or complete stranger. She would put accents on and act out the scenes that were always described in multicolour - she was reliving them once more. She had done amateur dramatics when in her late teens and before leaving for Africa. 

In 1958 grandad and grandma left England with 6 of their children and travelled overland to Africa in a converted butcher’s van. The aim was South Africa but when they arrived in Nigeria mum met a widowed engineer 17 years older than her, fell in love and stayed. Paul was born there in 1962.

For years I had tried to encourage her to write down her story or tape it, or type it. Handwriting was her thing.... not a big fan of modern technology (her first Skype will go down in history along with other rare occurrences …. man landing on the moon, for instance). “page 34”… maybe mum was taking me at my word and thought… well Mandy knows at least up to page 33. I will find the rest of it… There is so much to go through in what was her home since 2006. Mum was many things, organised is not one of them. Bits and bobs all over the place. Hence not finding all her notes together. Pages 1 to 33 have gone A.W.O.L.

This finding today has been good for me. For days I have known I wanted to sit down and write this today and thought I want to put a certain photo of mum when she was young, where she looks like a movie star. Saw the CD weeks ago, now I can’t find it. This is my lesson. Don’t do as you usually do - wait until you have all the ingredients you need – wing it. When the CD appears, write another blog.

In 2016 she decided to set to work and tell her story and started writing every day. I suggested that there was no need to write in chronological order but to just write when she remembered a story or event. Write at the top how old she was or the year if she could remember and we would order it later. Anyway, she found her way. I will type up all she wrote and share it with you.

Without looking at her notes I wanted to write about the woman I knew. I feel that even if mum wasn’t a well-known celebrity, like many people she lived through extraordinary times in history, many changes in our society especially for women and lived extraordinary moments which made her who she was and influenced the way she brought us up and the way she faced life’s challenges and joys. She left her mark on all those who knew her and that's her legacy.

After she died I received many messages from my cousins (Edwards’ family), there are quite a few of us spread around the world – and all said they wished they could have known her. I wanted to make a note of the little details for her granddaughters especially; the youngest is only 6. So here are a few facts in no particular order:

Mum was a mother with a capital M. Warm, nurturing, caring and welcoming. She was a home maker - she loved her home.

If you called unexpectedly you would be invited in and within five minutes she’d be making scones and tea. Only after the visit was over would she feel guilty about the state of the untidy house or that she’d been in dirty clothes and hadn’t brushed her hair since morning. Mum never left the house without her lippy on. Even if she was in scruffy clothes cutting the hedge in the garden.

Mum was not a regular church goer but she didn’t believe you should hang washing out on Sunday, for example. She had been a member of the Women's Institute and the Mothers' Union in the UK and she would go to the small Methodist chapel because I believe they sang more hymns.

She believed that if a man hit you it would only be once, you shouldn’t accept it and you should just walk out.

Everything and everybody had a story to tell. Every picture or nick-knack in the house has a label on the back with where, when, who.

She was a great cook. She loved food, trying out new dishes, swapping recipes, cooking a meal for someone she knew wasn’t well, or had just arrived back from a long journey, or just because she felt like it. She knew the British classics, but from living in Nigeria picked up Chinese, Indian, African, and from living in Mallorca picked up the local dishes. Always guided by what the locals ate, as she felt this was more economical and it was best to eat locally grown produce and to follow the seasons. She liked simple food best. She did drink a little wine occasionally but usually stuck to still water.

I have found recipes written on any scrap of paper. 

She loved music and always had the radio on or music playing. Dad was like that also. Classical, opera, country, pop music, etc. She took guitar lessons in Mallorca. Even when we were small mum and dad took us to the theatre, concerts and ballets. I remember being about 4 and seeing Madam Butterfly. Unfortunately dad had two left feet so dancing was not on the cards.

In 1979 when we had to leave Mallorca, because of the world financial crisis, mum decided she wanted to have a wool shop; she started running it then than left his work in Nigeria and joined us. So until 1992, they successfully ran “Mandy’s wool shop” in Aylesbury, UK.

She was a lady in every sense and always had a handkerchief, small white embroidered ones. I have found many while sorting. In old handbags, coats, jackets, trousers. When she was young she could have been a model, she was 5’7” and 36” 26” 36”. In the 1950’s women were curvy.

When she was young, she had long thick hair she could sit on and which she tucked away in a French pleat. After marrying dad and settling to live in Nigeria, the heat meant she always wore her French pleat and one night before a party dad walked in on her cutting her hair short.

Mum was only 57 when dad died of a heart attack. They had been married for 34 years and had sold the shop the year before. Dad was sure she would re-marry but she didn’t find anyone else nor did she go looking. She always spoke very highly of dad. He was a good man and had treated her with respect and always put his family first.

She knew how to sew (self-taught, though grandma Hamilton was an influence)… she made most of her clothes – made her wedding dress and the dress grandma wore that day as well. I still have her Vogue and McCalls patterns from the early 1960s – I couldn’t part with them. So feminine. Mum was very feminine. She made our clothes when we were kids and knitted as well as embroidery (the house is full of her tapestry pictures and cushions). I remember one Christmas when I was about 6, they bought me a doll with a pram, mum made me covers and sheets for the pram and the doll and me had matching clothes!

She liked painting. Especially water colours. Usually something from nature or she saw a nice picture and decided to copy it and paint it. She went to some lessons when she was already retired. She loved poetry and reading a good book. She always read when she went to bed – even if only two lines.

Because of her humble upbringing and being brought up on a farm, she could put her hand to anything. She’d always have a go. She didn’t mind getting her hands dirty. Dad was always a handy man. He had been a carpenter’s apprentice. But if there was painting and decorating to be done, mum was in charge. Hanging wallpaper and painting furniture. Actually, as a family we rarely call someone in, unless it’s major plumbing or electrical… we tend to do it ourselves. Initially to save money but also we enjoy it!

Brought up with a gang of brothers, she loved being a girl but would also play cricket and rounders with the lads and she could run fast. She loved watching sports. Rugby was a great favourite. 

She loved a good joke and she kept a notebook with all the jokes she heard. 

She cared greatly for her family but always supported us (Paul and me) when we decided to leave the UK and go to work abroad. She recognised the need for us to make our own lives as did dad.

Picture of mum on her 81st birthday 23 July 2017... when all seemed to be going well. Building up her iron count with a good steak!

Mum was diagnosed with leukaemia in April 2017 and received chemotherapy treatment at home – I would administer it – the first time we both cried. Me for injecting it in to my mother and she for having arrived at that situation. All was going brilliantly and she responded to treatment until a bone marrow test in late August revealed the cancer cells were increasing and a new stronger treatment would have to start. At the end of the first cycle of the new treatment and with no warning or time to plan, she caught an infection as she had zero defences and within hours of arriving in hospital she was delirious with fever so no communication possible for at least the 1^st week, she was in hospital for 3 weeks. We thought we would lose her then, but on 23 October she was discharged and came home to my flat – she couldn’t go back to her house – she was very weak and said it was her time to go – we spoke openly about death and her wishes. I do believe she didn’t die in order to be able to say goodbye and to prepare. I spent hours trying to find the dress she wanted to wear in the coffin – I found it after the funeral. Thankfully, she had said to me, it doesn’t matter, whatever you choose will be fine.

On 8 November she went into our local hospital in Manacor and died there on 20 November. She was cremated on the 21^st and we held a funeral in the local church on 28 November.

Picture painted on plywood by mum of a bunch of wild flowers I'd brought home from a walk.

Mum loved nature. Brought up on a farm with a few milking cows, animals and nature were always a big part of her life. She loved going for walks. She used to recall when she was young how she would take the dogs out for a long walk in the moonlight, no torch or street lights just walking over the hills. She knew the names of many trees, plants, herbs, flowers, etc. She could name a tree even in winter with no leaves, just by the shape of it. When we lived in Norfolk we loved going to visit the stately homes in summer mainly because of the landscaped gardens. She liked the sea but was not a beach person. She was a country girl at heart.

Animal lover. She was never without a pet. We are a dog family, we’ve even cared for friends and neighbours’ dogs. But when she died she had 5 pet cats and 5 kittens who had been born in the patio to a wild cat. She had rescued birds and hedgehogs in England. She hated bull fighting and couldn’t abide animal cruelty.

She loved history and art. On a cold winter’s day in Mallorca, we would look at each other and say… let’s get lost in “Pride and Prejudice” for a few hours. Mum never went back to England or travelled outside Mallorca from the time she bought the house here in 2006. She said she didn’t want to. Though on a really hot summer’s day she missed the English summers, especially the greenery – here everything is parched by July. She missed the English countryside and animals.

She told me one of the happiest days of her life was her 80^th birthday (2016) when I took her to work and she met my boss, Rafa Nadal. She was over the moon for days and carried with her a copy of the photo I took of them to show to everyone. 

We laughed a lot and had some favourtie lines we'd quote on particular occasions:

"I bet George Clooner doesn't have these problems" when we were up to our ears decorating.

"A blind man would be glad to see it" mum would always say this when my perfectionism crept out.

"Does she care for olives" a line from the film of Jane Austen's "Sense and Sensibility". Get the DVDs out and let's get our British fix.

"Would that I could see myself as others do"

"There but for the grace of God, go I", when seeing some poor unfurtunate person.

"God grant me the grace to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference". Quoted on many occasions

There is so much more to tell. Above all she was a good friend, we had many things in common and a balanced sense of what is right, good ad wonderful in this world.