Barbara Ferris, known by her family as Bar, was born on May 10th 1927, first daughter to Ernie and Audrey (nee McKee).  She grew up in Acton until war broke out, when she and her younger sister Anthea (known as Bay) were evacuated, getting on the train at Acton with their gas masks round their necks.  As a grown up almost teenager aged 12, evacuation was quite exciting for her.  Less so for poor little 7 year old Bay, who remembers how kindly Bar looked after her, she says.  (Although we know differently, as we have a letter from Bay to her mother during this time which quite definitively states ‘Bar is a pig’.)
After staying first in Dorchester and then in Newbury,  they finally returned permanently to London when Bay was 10, in time for the V1 and V2 bombs.   Bar spoke fondly of those years, and particularly about her glamorous older cousins in the forces, Gillian and Pamela Perrin, Lelio and David McKee, and most importantly her second cousin John Kerridge who turned up when on leave to take her dancing at the Hammersmith Palais.  This was the start of a lifelong friendship, and Bar and John’s families were to spend many happy holidays together in the years to come.
In 1947 Bar took up a place at Birmingham University to study English.  On the very first day she met Audrey (Duffield, later Patrick) who was also to become a dear friend for life. 
Back from his Royal Navy posting in Australia, Geoffrey Britton arrived in the English department at Birmingham to resume his studies, and the two met at the Mermaid Club, frequented by ex service men and – gasp – Socialists!  Romance blossomed.
Proud possessor of  first class degree, Bar returned home to London, swiftly followed by Geoffrey armed with his Bedford College job offer, and a proposal of marriage.  They were married in December 1950, and their first son Nicholas Ferris Britton was born in January 1953.  Soon afterwards, the untimely death of Bar and Bay’s mother Audrey lead to some upheaval, and the Britton family moved, with Pop, to a ramshackle ancient house in Bushey. 
More children followed:  Alison in October 1954, Hattie in April 1957 and Edwina in August 1959.
The house was something of a millstone, and Geoff’s commute to central London was taking its toll, so when a developer came sniffing in 1966, they were relieved to be rid of it, and searched for a new home closer into town.  Geoff had long suffered the irritation of Northern Line trains terminating at Golders Green, so that was an obvious choice, and they moved into their house at 48 Temple Fortune Lane on 24th August 1966 (my 7th birthday), and never left. 
As the children got older, Bar turned her attention back to academia, studying art history first at The Institute on Central Square (where she also nabbed an O level in Italian to help her on her way) before going to the Warburg Institute where she studied under renowned art historian Ernst Gombrich, and was awarded a Master of Philosophy in 1972, at the ripe old age of 45.  
Bar and Geoff lived a full and stimulating life packed with culture and learning, regularly going to the theatre and the opera, visiting exhibitions and galleries, and travelling both overseas (to Spain, Italy and Greece) and in the UK, to visit the cathedrals, churches, galleries and monuments they both loved.   
Bar was a keen amateur artist. Her grand-daughter Miriam says her natural medium was oils, and that she was always interested and open to ideas, even in her late eighties embarking on a new challenge to master abstract art.
They were active members of St Jude’s and whilst Bar preferred to be more in the background, she was always on the cleaning roster, and ready for her stint at the autumn market.  She also worked to produce the amazing St Jude’s Archive. 
Everybody loved her – and how could they not, with her beaming smile, willingness to muck in, and refusal to enter into arguments and politics. We have been sent so many tributes, and one comment encapsulates them all – ‘so kind, and so clever’.  From her, we learnt many things, but above all what it was to give, and not to count the cost. 
It was her family circle that meant most to her, not just her own children but also Bay and Gordon, Bill, Frances, Julia and Laura and their families, as well as the Kerridges, the Patricks, the Roes, the Boltons, the McKees and more.  As the grandchildren began to arrive she was always ready with a warm welcome for Ros, Miriam, Katie, Rachel, Joe, Gus and Anne who loved her for her total interest and absorption in their questions, her attentive ability to listen and understand, throwing out a pertinent comment, a searching question, but always entirely without judgement or hurt.
When writing this, I was drawn repeatedly back to the word Matriarch – which the dictionary defines as a ‘woman who is the head of a family or tribe, an older woman who is powerful within a family or organization.’
Was she a matriarch?  She would have laughed at the description, with its domineering connotations.  Self-deprecating and modest, she confessed sometimes to feeling she had not fulfilled her potential, unable to recognise the extraordinary position she held as role model and focal point for her whole family.  Everything revolved around her, and all family information passed through her.  I’d say that made her a matriarch.
Nothing fazed her, and just as she effortlessly fed and looked after her family of six, producing dinner AND pudding every night from a tiny little kitchen,  likewise Sunday lunch for 16 was never an issue, and the table was always groaning with extra dishes ‘just in case’ followed by a choice of two, maybe three, homemade puddings, often including the amazing chocolate bombe that stands out in Miri’s memory.  In cookery as in life, she constantly embraced new ideas and new ingredients, so although she learnt to cook during post-war austerity, she updated her repertoire year by year.
She was always up for a bit of fun: an outing, a family gathering, a trip, even a walk would do.  The house was filled with her songs and voices (generations of Britton cats speak on with Mopsa’s voice – Matthew suggested to me that Mopsa might like to speak today, but I will resist the temptation), and everything revolved around the kitchen where she would be chatting to the vegetables, or singing to the lettuce, which we will do later in this service.    She would be out on the green playing cricket and football with her grandchildren at the drop of a hat.  She loved to be outside, and her garden was her great joy – she packed it full, year after year, and was always delighted to fill the living room with cut flowers, and her kitchen with freshly picked runner beans.
Full of energy in her 80s, she used to swim at Highgate ponds, and when the whole family celebrated her 90th in a big house with a pool in Herefordshire, she was still swimming up and down.  Soon afterwards, an infection laid her low, and from then onwards she went slowly downhill and lost her independence.  She continued to be gracious, gentle and smiling to the end, as the family gathered to support her, and assist the wonderful Beatrice and her team, and above all our new sister, Purity who looked after Bar as if she were her own mother.
We are beyond sad that her much loved oldest child and only son, Nick is not with us today to say goodbye to her, the most wonderful mother, mother-in-law, grandmother, great-grandmother, sister, aunt, friend and neighbour, and the centre of our lives.