Of A Sad Goodbye & A Feel Better Treat

Tuesday was a very sad day. I said goodbye to a friend of nearly fifty years. We were best friends at college and have remained so over all these decades. She never made it to her threescore and ten. Our music teaching careers may have taken different paths, but we both maintained the passion for communicating the joys of engaging with music with children and adults. Beatrice was a force of nature. Her sisters were happy, proud and exasperated to tell us how she had been a "wild child". It was quite something to meet them after all this time too. I was very, very happy to meet the daughter of her late husband. Beatrice was always talking about her (they were very close in age) We met Beatrice's future husband for the first time together when we studied music at college. He was one of our tutors. I had actually known of Peter Jenkyns for a lot longer than that, though, since he was a published composer of children's songs and I had sung his "Little Spanish Town" when I was still in junior school. I also remember taking part in a music festival, though I can't remember whether or not our school choir sang "Little Spanish Town", but Peter was one of the adjudicators. Sadly Peter died decades ago. His was the first humanist remembrance service I attended. Over the years Beatrice and I supported each other through some very dark times. Somehow we managed to laugh at anything, no matter how serious. Someone I spoke to at Bea's funeral observed she had the dirtiest cackle in the world. It's true, although that cackle brought me so much joy. Bea had been ill for years. By last July it was clear that her time was becoming short and we hadn't been able to see each other since the covid outbreak and subsequent restrictions well over a year earlier. I wrote about taking her a living room performance and I shall always treasure that experience.

The funeral was attended by two, or maybe three, hundred people. What a testament to a life so beautifully lived. It was an outdoor humanist service and her wicker casket was lowered into the earth in a wooded glade. So perfect. So apt. There was not a dry eye among the mourners when one of Bea's sisters played Fairport Convention's "Who Knows Where The Time Goes?" over the sound system. Farewell Farewell.

This is so Beatrice!

I've been working on a new song to remember her by. I don't know that I'll ever get it right, but I'm going to try.

I couldn't bear the thought of driving straight home so I went into St Neots and set up my rig in the main street to sing my blues away. As always it was a very calming experience. I also met Punky Ian who told me quite a lot of stuff about the universe and what it has in store for us ... who knows where the time goes?