This is written for Freda from Melbourne, Australia, on behalf of my mother Janet Keuneman (née Cowell) and of myself David Keuneman.
Freda’s death has meant for Janet the loss of her oldest and dearest friend, and for me, David, the loss of my godmother.
Freda Hanson and Janet Cowell met some eighty odd years ago when they began as pupils in Form One at Burnley High School for Girls. Freda was just seven weeks older than Janet was and, as they would continue to joke between themselves all their lives, there was nothing Janet could do about it – Freda would always remain seven weeks her senior.
Best friends they quickly became, and best friends they remained. These two bright studious girls achieved more than girls often did in those days, let alone girls from Burnley. Freda went on to Oxford to study humanities, Janet via London to Cambridge to study physics.
As they became independent young women, Freda’s and Janet’s lives began to move in different geographical directions. Janet married soon after taking her degree, and a couple of years later her young David was born in Burnley. Freda became his godmother. But as the war ended, both young women deserted Lancashire. Janet with her husband Arthur and fledgling family took off to Ceylon (Sri Lanka) for some years and finally to Australia; Freda in time crossed the Pennines to teach in alien Yorkshire, where later she married Pat and stayed on in Skipton.
Freda and I, David, saw a little more of each other in the late 1950s since for a while I went to secondary school in England, where I lived with my Burnley grandparents (Janet’s parents) who had recently retired to the coast just out of Blackpool. Trips over to Yorkshire cemented my connection with Freda. Then, and over the years, I came to admire her enthusiasm and her energy in pursuit of travel, history, music and the wonders of the world in general. In my late teens my own world then moved to be centred in Australia where my family, Janet, Arthur and my brother Gerald had finally settled. Freda and I remained in touch by mail, and from time to time I would see her when I visited the northern hemisphere again.
The last time I actually saw Freda was when Helen and I, on a visit to Europe in 1999., drove to Skipton and spent a couple of days with her in Carelton Avenue. Like other visitors, we were taken on the ritual drive through the dales on a Sunday. Freda, ever-prepared, had brought the basket with thermos of tea. However as the appointed mid-afternoon time for tea approached, Freda realised that she had forgotten to bring milk.
Not a shop to be seen anywhere near, but as we approached a tiny village, Freda spotted a lady standing idly by the front gate of her cottage. We pulled over, Freda leaned out of the passenger-side window and explained our plight, asking quite firmly if the lady had enough milk in the house to fill up one of our cups. Who could refuse? We got our milk; smiles all round and profuse thanks given; so when we reached the intended look-out spot up ahead, the cups of tea happened without a hitch. What displays of Yorkshire resourcefulness and hospitality.
Back to Freda and Janet. The years and the miles did not dampen their friendship at all. Frequent letters and periodic long-distance phone calls kept them in touch. Freda came to Australia to visit Janet and Arthur and to help them celebrate their fiftieth wedding anniversary. The phone calls continued to take place until both were well into their nineties. Janet too was widowed by now and like Freda living independently at home, but in the last couple of years they each of them needed to move into residential care. Even then however there was a sense of concern for each other arising from that lifelong togetherness of spirit which was founded back in those youthful nineteen-thirties days at the Girls’ High School in Ormerod Road, Burnley.
We who remain shall miss Freda dearly.
Comments