Dorothy Fenner (6 Oct 1923 - 23 Feb 2017)

Dorothy -- Mrs Dillon as I knew her -- was a good friend of my mother from Dorothy's Burton Green years. They kept in touch with Christmas letters after they both remarried and moved away.

Mrs Dillon was also my beloved piano teacher. I was expertly coached through to the dizzy heights of the Royal Schools of Music Grade 7. Mrs Dillon encouraged me to aspire to complete Grade 8 which she suggested I might do in future life when on maternity leave! Unfortunately, I worked through to 38 weeks and then went off to spend my maternity leave in rural Nepal with my husband. I still think of Mrs Dillon with affection when I ply my piano -- I am determined to get back to at least Grade 5 proficiency but am hampered in retirement by osteoarthritis.

Rest in Peace, dear Mrs Dillon. Sincere condolences to all your family and friends

A Celebration and Remembrance of the Life of

Dorothy Frances Fenner

6th October 1923 – 23rd February 2017





Ceremony at Oakley Wood Crematorium
3:00pm, Tuesday 14th March 2017


Celebrant:
Blake Hutchings
British Humanist Association
07736 310568
blakehutchings@googlemail.co.uk
humanist.org.uk/blakehutchings
Funeral Director:
Co-operative Funeralcare
12 Parade
Leamington Spa, CV32 4DW
01926 428665


Introductory Music
Overture to The Mikado – Gilbert and Sullivan

Words of Welcome
Welcome, on behalf of John and all of Dorothy’s family. We meet here today to celebrate the life of Dorothy Frances Fenner, to pay tribute to her character and to say goodbye.
As we entered the music was the Overture to The Mikado by Gilbert & Sullivan, a piece of music much-loved by Dorothy from one of her favourite shows.
My name is Blake Hutchings and I am from the British Humanist Association. A Humanist funeral ceremony is an opportunity to join in taking leave of someone loved: someone for whom there has been the greatest of affection and respect. But it is more than that: it is a celebration of the life and personality that have been.
In today’s ceremony we will hear a tribute to Dorothy, where you will be able to remember her life and her character. There will be a personal contribution from her family, as well as a prose reading, a moment for reflection, and some more music. Finally we will say goodbye to Dorothy during the committal.

Thoughts on Life and Loss
When we look back upon a life, we often look for meaning. This great mystery that has troubled the greatest thinkers and philosophers since the beginning of humankind, may, as it happens have a simple answer: for many of us who look at life from a Humanist perspective, ultimately we conclude that the value and the meaning of life consist in living it – and living it well. People who have embodied a sense of determination and achievement, being a source of inspiration to others and finding fulfilment and satisfaction from doing so – these are the people who make our own lives worth living. Dorothy was such a person.
Looking beyond your grief today, you can rejoice that Dorothy was, and in many ways still is, a part of your lives. Her influence endures in the unending consequences that flow from her character and the things she did. She shall be remembered as a living, vital presence; and that memory will bring refreshment and comfort in times of trouble.
What matters is not that Dorothy has died, but that she lived. You will all have your own memories of Dorothy that may, for now, bring on a note of sadness, but which will, in time, bring smiles as they remind you of the woman that she was, and the connection you had which will never be lost. It is the delight in those memories that we celebrate today.
Depuis le jour – Angela Gheorghiu
As most of you here will know, music and theatre were among Dorothy’s greatest passions in life, and in recognition of this, our ceremony today will feature several pieces taken from musical theatre that were especially loved by Dorothy. The first of these is the aria Depuis le jour from Louise by Gustave Charpentier. Although many wonderful versions of this piece are available, Dorothy’s personal favourite was this, performed by Angela Gheorghiu.
Since the day I gave myself
my destiny seems all flower-strewn
I think I'm dreaming under a fairy sky
my soul still intoxicated by your first kiss!
What a beautiful life!
My dream wasn't a dream!
Oh! I'm so happy!
Love is spreading its wings over me!
In the garden of my heart
sings a new joy!
Everything is vibrant
everything rejoices at my triumph!
All around me everything is smiling
light and joy!
And I'm trembling delightfully
from the charming memory
of the first day
of love!
What a beautiful life!
Oh! I'm so happy! ...utterly happy!
And I'm trembling delightfully
from the charming memory
of the first day
of love!



Memories of Dorothy – from Joy Wingfield
Our first contribution today comes from Dorothy’s daughter Joy, who has prepared some words that she would like to share with you.
I have been asked to say a few words about my mother, Dorothy, Dot or Mum depending on who knew her. My mum was a warm, kind, self-reliant and competent lady who trusted those around her. She had a great sense of humour and made many friends, some of whom are still around to be here today. Born in 1923, some would say she had a hard life but her set-backs never made her hard.
A bright pupil and an easy match in intellect for her brother, our Uncle Don, her hopes of moving from grammar school to college were dashed by the outbreak of war in 1939 when she was just 16. Only a month after this, her father died of asthma and a stroke so she was promptly un-evacuated to return home to earn some money to supplement the family budget. She told us stories of getting lost whilst cycling in the blackout to work as a clerk at Coventry City Council and surviving not one but two bombs on their house.
But somehow she met and married my father, Alan and had my sister at age 19 and me at 23. My abiding memories at that time included several chimney fires which delighted us children to see the flames licking out of the chimney and the lovely scent of burning soot. Tragedy struck a few years later, when my father became mentally ill and violent and, as was the custom at the time, was permanently admitted to a mental hospital. We two children, aged six and ten were cared for in Leicester by my Uncle Don and Aunty Peggy while Mum tried to reboot her life. I was too young to mind the upheaval – we were still fed and watered – but mum must have struggled to keep in touch with us both (I remember long bus rides in the care of the friendly conductor) until in 1957 we returned to her care and moved in with her mother, our nanny, in Foleshill Coventry.
Mum found happiness a few years later when she married for the second time, another John, and took up teacher training to teach maths, music and drama for around fifteen years. We moved to Burton Green and I went to grammar school here in Leamington and my sister married and started her own family. Our serenity was disturbed by the unexpected addition of our lovely step-sister Ruth to our family. Aged 11 and John’s daughter by his first wife, I remember the acute embarrassment of having to take this whippersnapper on the bus to school with me when I had reached the far superior and wiser age of 16! But Ruth was delightful and still is – and thank you to her for joining us today with her husband – another John.
Sadly, Mum’s second marriage failed but her faith in life and optimism were rewarded in a third marriage, to John Fenner in 1978 which proved to be her longest and final partnership. Fuelled by a joint passion for drama, singing and music she was for many years happy and fulfilled, becoming an accomplished costume maker, writer of melodramas and compiler of a history of the Loft Theatre in Leamington as well as continuing to practise skills in recorder and piano playing. She was a keen member of the local Women’s Institute and loved languages, improving her German and Spanish as well as excelling in a course on word processing.
In her later years, our roles changed. From mum always being the one who looked after us, we needed to look after her. Her troubles increased from life-long asthma, failing eyesight and hearing and other problems but she always cared for our happiness and exhorted us only to keep in touch and continue with our lives. My Mum, an ardent feminist and believer in women’s education, did not spare herself in encouraging and rejoicing in my career achievements and giving me wise counsel in my more chequered personal life. She was always on my side even when I was probably in the wrong. Maggie and Ruth want to tell you in their own words what she meant to them.
All of us here will remember my Mum or Dorothy with unfailing affection and regard for a life well lived. She will be missed.

A Tribute to my Mum from Margaret Lloyd
Our second personal contribution today comes from Dorothy’s daughter Margaret, who has prepared some words that she would like to share with you now.
When I was a little girl, I suffered badly from asthma attacks. I would often wake up at night and panic because I couldn’t breathe. Mum sat up with me night after night and soothed me back to sleep with lots of cuddles and words of comfort.
Much later on, when I lost my first husband to cancer, what could I do but immediately run back to my mum as fast as my little legs could carry me. She did exactly what she had done before – she scooped me up in her arms and gradually nursed me back to heath again with words of comfort and support.
Without these two episodes in my life, I may not have had the urge to survive. So, with love and gratitude I have to say – Thanks Mum, thanks a million.



Memories of ‘Aidee’ – from Ruth Hargreaves
Our third personal contribution today comes from her stepdaughter Ruth, who has also prepared some words that she would like to share with you.
I called my stepmother “Aidee” as we decided early on that Auntie Dorothy was too much of a mouthful for everyday use. In 1963, due to a sudden unexpected turn of events in my life with my mother and stepfather, the 11-year old me joined the household. Just when Joy and Maggie were becoming adults there was another child to look after and see through secondary school.
Aidee did a wonderful job and always treated me like a daughter. I am especially grateful to her for having the patience to teach me how to sew, knit and crochet – pastimes which I continue to enjoy today. Her marriage to my father broke down during my last year of school and after moving to a tiny cottage in Radford Semele she continued to give me a home there with her while I was a penniless University Student, until I moved to London to start work. Even after she had to take in and care for her elderly mother she still managed to find room for me.
My life would have been very different without her love and support. I feel very fortunate to have had Aide as my second mother and will always remember her with gratitude and much love.



To a Garden Full of Posies
Our second piece of music today is taken from the Gilbert & Sullivan operetta Ruddigore, from which Dorothy always had fond memories of playing Mad Margaret and performing this song: To a Garden Full of Posies.
To a garden full of posies
Cometh one to gather flowers,
 And he wanders through its bowers
Toying with the wanton roses,
 Who, uprising from their beds,
 Hold on high their shameless heads
With their pretty lips a-pouting,
Never doubting—never doubting
 That for Cytherean posies
 He would gather aught but roses!

In a nest of weeds and nettles,
 Lay a violet, half-hidden,
 Hoping that his glance unbidden
Yet might fall upon her petals.
 Though she lived alone, apart,
 Hope lay nestling at her heart,
But, alas, the cruel awaking
Set her little heart a-breaking,
 For he gathered for his posies
 Only roses—only roses!



Excerpt from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll
Our second personal contribution today now comes from Dorothy’ husband John, who has selected a reading from one of Dorothy’s favourite authors, Lewis Carroll, that he would like to share with you now.
“You can’t think how glad I am to see you again, you dear old thing!” said the Duchess, as she tucked her arm affectionately into Alice’s, and they walked off together.
Alice was very glad to find her in such a pleasant temper, and thought to herself that perhaps it was only the pepper that had made her so savage when they met in the kitchen.
When I’m a Duchess,” she said to herself (not in a very hopeful tone, though), “I won’t have any pepper in my kitchen at all. Soup does very well without – Maybe it’s always pepper that makes people hot-tempered,” she went on, very much pleased at having found out a new kind of rule, “and vinegar that makes them sour – and camomile that makes them bitter – and – and barley-sugar and such things that make children sweet-children sweet-tempered. I only wish people knew that: then they wouldn’t be so stingy about it, you know---“
She had quite forgotten the Duchess by this time, and was a little startled when she heard her voice close to her ear. “You’re thinking something, my dear, and that makes you forget to talk. I can’t tell you just now what the moral of that is, but I shall remember it in a bit.”
“Perhaps its hasn’t one,” Alice ventured to remark.
“Tut, tut, child!” said the Duchess. “Everything’s got a moral, if only you can find it.” And she squeezed herself up closer to Alice’s side as she spoke.
Alice did not much like her keeping so close to her: first, because the Duchess was very ugly; and secondly, because she was exactly the right height to rest her chin on Alice’s shoulder, and it was an uncomfortably sharp chin. However she did not like to be rude: so she bore it as well as she could.
“The game’s going on rather better now,” she said, by way of keeping up the conversation a little.
“Tis so,” said the Duchess: “and the moral of that is – ‘Oh, ‘tis love, ‘tis love, that makes the world go round!”
“Somebody said,” Alice whispered, “that it’s done by everybody minding their own business!”
“Ah, well! It means much the same thing,” said the Duchess, digging her sharp little chin into Alice’s shoulder as she added “and the moral of that is – ‘Take care of the sense, and the sounds will take care of themselves.’”
“How fond she is of finding morals in things!” Alice thought to herself.
“I dare say you’re wondering why I don’t put my arm round your waist,” the Duchess said, after a pause: “the reason is, that I’m doubtful about the temper of your flamingo. Shall I try the experiment?”
“He might bite,” Alice cautiously replied, not feeling at all anxious to have the experiment tried.
“Very true.” said the Duchess: “flamingos and mustard both bite. And the moral of that is – ‘Birds of a feather flock together.’”
“Only mustard isn’t a bird,” Alice remarked.
“Right, as usual,” said the Duchess: “what a clear way you have of putting things!”
“It’s a mineral, I think,” said Alice.
“Of course it is,” said the Duchess, who seemed ready to agree to everything that Alice said: “there’s a large mustard-mine near here. And the moral of that is – ‘The more there is of mine, the less there is of yours.’”



My Eyes are Fully Open
Our final piece of featured music today is also taken from Gilbert & Sullivan’s Ruddigore and was a particular favourite of Dorothy’s: My Eyes are Fully Open.
My eyes are fully open to my awful situation—
I shall go at once to Roderic and make him an oration.
I shall tell him I've recovered my forgotten moral senses,
And I don't care twopence-halfpenny for any consequences.
Now I do not want to perish by the sword or by the dagger,
But a martyr may indulge a little pardonable swagger,
And a word or two of compliment my vanity would flatter,
But I've got to die tomorrow, so it really doesn't matter!
If I were not a little mad and generally silly
I should give you my advice upon the subject, willy nilly;
I should show you in a moment how to grapple with the question,
And you'd really be astonished at the force of my suggestion.
On the subject I shall write you a most valuable letter,
Full of excellent suggestions when I feel a little better,
But at present I'm afraid I am as mad as any hatter,
So I'll keep 'em to myself, for my opinion doesn't matter!
If I had been so lucky as to have a steady brother
Who could talk to me as we are talking now to one another—
Who could give me good advice when he discovered I was erring
(Which is just the very favour which on you I am conferring),
My story would have made a rather interesting idyll,
And I might have lived and died a very decent indiwiddle.
This particularly rapid, unintelligible patter
Isn't generally heard, and if it is it doesn't matter!

The Committal
We now come to the committal, where together we will say a final goodbye. Dorothy’s family have asked that the curtains remain open so that you can say a personal goodbye as you leave.
Here, in this last act, immune now to the changes and chances of our human life, we commit the body of Dorothy Frances Fenner to its end.
Goodbye Dorothy. Goodbye as a wife, mother, step-mother, grandmother, great-grandmother, and friend. Goodbye from all of your extended family, and from all of the lives that you touched. You are gone now, but you will not be forgotten.
Closing Words
We have been remembering, with love and with gratitude, a life that has ended. Now, as we conclude our ceremony, Dorothy’s family would like to thank you all for coming, and for all of the kind thoughts and messages sent in recent days.
Dorothy received excellent care during her final days at Homewood Care Home in Leamington Spa, for which her family are very grateful. It is for this reason that Dorothy’s family have asked that if you would like to make any charitable donations in memory of Dorothy, they should be sent directly to Homewood Care Home so that others can benefit from their excellent work. The address can be found on your Order of Service. If you are able, please help support this worthy cause.
The best of all answers to death is the wholehearted and continuing affirmation of life, for the greater fulfilment of humankind. As we leave, there will be one more opportunity to remember Dorothy’s love of music and in particular her love of the recorder: Autumn from The Four Seasons by Vivaldi.
Take care of yourselves and take care of each other. Dorothy’s work is over now, but our own work continues.
Thank you.

Recessional Music
‘Autumn – The Four Seasons’ – Vivaldi