Gillian Cartledge’s Funeral

Eulogy written by Frank Cartledge (Gillian’s son) 

Our mum, Gillian Cartledge died on the 28th October two-thousand and twenty after a brief stay in hospital, brought about by a slight fall, where, unfortunately, she contracted Covid. She was discharged whilst still positive with Covid and returned home.

Unlike many in her situation Gillian was lucky enough to have two care assistants, Patricia and Ellie by her side when she passed. I would like to thank them and their colleagues Heather, Tracy and Ella and their manager Sam Fosu for the brilliant work they did which so often goes unrecognised.

Gillian when younger was employed across different hospitals in Blood Transfusion as a Medical Laboratory Technician. She retired after the birth of us but continued to engage fully in the world. She was a keen lifelong Esperantist, a guide leader, a rambler, a member of the Campaign to Protect Rural England, the Women’s Fellowship and the W.I. a lunch club provider, a political activist and a supporter both financially and through her own labours Action Aid, Christian Aid and numerous other charities. She was also at different times of her life a daughter and a sister, a partner and a wife to Jack, a mother to Debbie, Liz and myself, a granny to Sophie, Jake, Adam, Martha and Abie and a great grandmother to Amber.

Here, at St Gabriel’s she made herself a home and provided an early example to businesses of what we now commonly refer to as zero hours contracts.  Tirelessly gardening, cleaning the church hall, running committees, serving coffee and teas working with no written contract only a spoken contract with God which to be honest was rather slight on detail in regard to her remuneration. To Gillian, her commitment to the church and its teachings gave her the greatest support and comfort throughout her life.

Gillian took the same approach to the lunch club she ran for a number of decades. As cashier, accountant, shopper and cook she would eke out the minimal contribution to provide everyone with a main course and pudding cheerfully referring to them as her old folk even as she outlived one after the other.

Her cooking skills at home included making a Sunday joint last the whole week, and sometimes the accompanying vegetables, by minimising to us a/ the likelihood of food poisoning and b/ by telling us that unusual hues of colour on the meat or vegetables could simply be cut off and left at the side of the plate. She also baked bread weekly until her mid 80s which would fill you up for two weeks and heaven forbid you dropped it on your toes. Gillian’s children and grandchildren can all remember afternoons in the kitchen stirring mixtures, greasing cake tins and scraping out bowls with worn down wooden spoons. However, in my memory what Gillian did best was puddings on a strict rota: Monday – rice pudding, semolina or sago; Tuesday – apple pie or Bakewell tart; Wednesday- Lemon meringue pie or chocolate and banana pudding and obviously a crumble on a Sunday. There was something very comforting about Gillian’s routines, they were a buffer to the uncertainties of the outside world once you crossed the threshold of 175.

A common trait of many people of her generation who had experienced rationing and the depredations of the War was to Make Do and Mend. Gillian was a zealous proponent of this school of thought. We had to persuade her to switch from a top loading washing machine to a front loading one as Mum failed to understand how something that didn’t need manual exertion could possibly get clothes cleaner than physical labour. (as an aside from the same school of thought we inherited a mangle which stood in the back garden when we were children which allowed us to flatten anything we could find).

Over the years we experienced many novel devices for using things up or making things last longer. My personal favourite being the soap maker. Here is my niece and Gillian’s granddaughter Sophia giving her account of it:  

I can remember being really intrigued by it once as a child and Gran being really pleased to show me just exactly how you used it to create a whole new bar of soap when after ages we had collected enough small used bits of soap to make it work. She was probably quite disappointed when I was left unimpressed at the final result which looked rather grubby and a mish mash of colours.

The result I can attest was something that looked far dirtier than anything you wanted to wash and I can’t remember anyone but my mum ever using it. Sophia adds, 

It’s fair to say she probably had a smaller carbon footprint in her 90 years than any of us have had in the last 40 with her make do, mend and recycle approach.

Like Jack Gillian loved Sheffield and called it her adopted home. She also loved walking in the peak district – if you ever saw a family coming towards you in a downpour at Redmires wearing an assorted range of ill-fitting yellow and black Mackintoshes and Sou’wester’s hats with one parent holding a tartan thermos and the children looking decidedly sullen and the young boy dragging an oversized branch it was probably us on a bracing day out.  

Gillian loved being around children, hence her work with the playgroup and later her tireless duties with her children and grandchildren until it became impractical. Liz remembers Mum and her discovering fairies in Ecclesall woods and how mum entered into her imaginary world encouraging her to invite them home and letting them live underneath the sideboard. Debbie remembers her tireless costume making for church pantomimes in the 1960s. Jake was recently united with two books Gillian read to him as a child the Minpins and The Moons Revenge which are under his bed today as we remember her. 

She could also be straight talking and unsentimental. I have a teenage memory of having run away from home and being brought back rather sorry looking and dishevelled by the police no less and my mum’s first words being, “next time you run away can you do it in the school holidays as it would be far easier with the authorities”.

I don’t think my mum’s life was a barrel of laugh’s. She had difficult times, depressions and anxiety and found it difficult to express her emotions honestly. I think these things weighed on her mind but were rarely expressed. What I remember most is someone who was incredibly gentle, caring and sweet who enjoyed helping others perhaps, in part, out of a sense of duty, but mainly because it gave her satisfaction to see others benefitting from her time. When I think of both my parents I am filled with huge admiration for their dignity and honesty, their selflessness and desire to put the needs of others before themselves. Neither found the need to seek recognition for their endless charitable endeavours and work in the community and would brush off any suggestion that it was in anyway unusual or worthy of praise.   

I am going to end with a simple line in Esperanto a beautiful language which celebrates our universality and encourages the inclusion of all nations and nationalities something Gillian her father and grandfather all believed in and all spoke fluently

Ripozu en paco milda which hopefully translates to rest in peace gentle one