Donation made.
I first met Thelma when she was courting George, my father’s brother, but I can’t remember that far back. I do remember the horrific accident that they had in a taxi on the way home from the airport – an accident from which Thelma had long-term injuries. At the time, I think they were living at Kensal Rise in London, before moving to Spencer Road in Wembley.
Despite Thelma’s difficulty in walking and climbing stairs, she was the perfect host (hostess, in those days!) when I stayed with her and George on numerous occasions – sometimes with my mother, sometimes with a friend. I was young then and it was exciting for me to be staying a short train journey from central London. Thelma always considered herself young, too; she never let me call her auntie. I have fond memories of those occasions, even though Thelma often told me to have my hair cut and continually criticised my pronunciation of her name (“Felma”)! She has never minced her words!
With my wife, Pat, and our two children, I have continued to see Thelma periodically – either at Verwood or at family get-togethers in Essex, where I live. I have continued to be told off by her, most recently by looking at my mobile phone in her bungalow! However, I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way – it is better than being talked about behind one’s back!
Whether she liked it or not, Thelma became a great, great aunt 13 years ago. At least that didn’t ‘send her to an early grave’ – she has lived to a good age and, I believe, has had a very enjoyable life overall. She certainly will be missed. R.I.P.
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