Meta Dickinson (2 Aug 1929 - 19 Mar 2016)

Miss you so much each and every day. So many happy memories of you and Dad from the past. You were such a beautiful couple together.

“To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die.”

Resurrection - Poem by Vladimir Holan

Is it true that after this life of ours we shall one day be awakened
by a terrifying clamour of trumpets?
Forgive me God, but I console myself
that the beginning and resurrection of all of us dead
will simply be announced by the crowing of the cock.

After that we'll remain lying down a while...
The first to get up
will be Mother...We'll hear her
quietly laying the fire,
quietly putting the kettle on the stove
and cosily taking the teapot out of the cupboard.
We'll be home once more.

You have flown away now but we know you love us all still.

Tribute by Michele

‘We think the world of you’
I never thought that such a compliment could ever have existed; yet Meta was repeating it often to myself.
For someone who had never really known maternal love, it was a level of personal acceptance that transcended understanding.
For someone who had journeyed, from grand-mother to aunty to mother,
Then mother-in-law,
Mother-in-law,
Mother-in-law,
– Yes, I had three! – And had attempted to form an unbreakable link, I eventually discovered a loving person who knew how to embrace other cultures whilst staying attached to her own roots,
A woman of character who always chose that ‘knowing smile’ in preference to a stern expression,
A lady who had a heart large enough to provide a place of comfort for myself,
My children
And my grand-children.
‘We think the world of you’
Je ne pensais pas qu’un tel compliment pouvait exister et pourtant Meta me le répétait souvent.
Pour quelqu’un qui n’a jamais vraiment connu l’amour maternel. C’était un niveau d’acceptation qui dépassait l’entendement.
Moi qui, de grand-mère, en tante, en mère,
En belle-mère,
En belle-mère,
En belle-mère
- et oui, j’en ai eu trois – ai tenté de former un lien inaltérable, j’ai fini par trouver
Une personne qui savait embracer d’autres cultures tout en célébrant ses origines,
Une femme de caractère qui préférait afficher un sourire espiègle à une moue austère,
Une dame qui avait le cœur assez grand pour m’y faire une place ainsi qu’à mes enfants et petits-enfants.

Meta was born in 1929. She was a gentle soul who selflessly dedicated herself to supporting her nearest and dearest. At this time of her passing on, I am sure that her concern would be that we all carry on with our lives and strive to be happy. So, as we think of her during this celebration of her life, let our tears be replaced by smiles as that is what she would have wished for.
Meta was a much-loved wife to Frank and mother to myself and Michele. Her love and kindness has also crossed borders and has touched our extended family in France.

Meta met Frank in 1949, a glorious post-war era of swing music and positive hope for the future. As a young married couple they would share cross- country cycle rides, visits to Devon alongside holidays to Scotland. Let us not forget that Meta was a proud member of the MacPherson clan on her father’s side. In fact, some of my earliest memories were of visits to Scotland alongside memories of mum providing me with words of encouragement when I was learning to read. The written word was important to her both in her professional life as a secretary and beyond. This has had a significant impact on myself resulting in a love of books which has stayed with me ever since.

Back in the sixties as a family we were quite adventurous, moving beyond the traditional holiday resorts of Blackpool and Morecambe and venturing farther afield to Spain and Switzerland. Meta was never afraid to open her arms to other cultures and this openness stayed with her into her later years. In recent years, I have vivid memories of mum and dad visiting Paris, laughing and smiling and soaking in ‘le culture Francaise’. And that openness to the world exerted a major influence on myself also. Let us not forget that as a young woman growing up in post-war Britain, Meta would also visit the opera whenever the opportunity arose. I recall her describing to me performances of ‘La Boheme’ and ‘La Traviata’ she had once attended. Maybe that is where my love of opera originated also.

Meta loved her home and family. For the vast majority of her life she resided with Frank in Bury and whilst there was always available to support all members of the family: a shoulder to cry on, a provider of words of wisdom and always there to “put the kettle on” for whoever walked through the front-door. Meta was always ready to adapt to change and a few years ago, she and dad moved to Lincoln. Every Sunday afternoon, maybe following a walk in the local Lincolnshire countryside, Michele and I would regularly pop in for a late afternoon tea. The smile on her face when we arrived said it all: “Thank-you Mum”, “Merci Maman”