Joe Grimwade delivered the thoughts of the grandchildren.

I speak today on behalf of Barbara’s grandchildren, the younger – but no longer the youngest – generation of her family. We, the grandchildren, knew Barbara by several names, as Granny or as Dar.
Dar,
Granny.
We need neither classify nor catalogue her kind and gentle virtue to articulate what those twin titles meant to us, to intimate the loss for us
of Dar, of Granny.
Instead, we have collected memories, gathered as flowers in a basket, choice blooms from a garden in springtime.

Anne remembers the love of art she and Granny shared;
swimming in the pond at Kenwood; and strawberries and cream for dessert.
Staying with Granny was always a chance for calm in difficult times. Granny taught Anne to take pleasure in everyday things and gave her confidence in herself.
Anne will miss Granny’s friendship deeply.

Gus remembers Granny’s infinite patience and indulgence as she followed wherever his inimitably inventive imagination led, as they embarked together on a bid for the FA Cup, or a series of summer test matches at Lord’s.
Gus notes that Wisden Cricketer’s Almanack calls Granny one of the most notorious bowlers ever to grace The Green. Her signature underarm spin caused countless batsmen to crumble at the crease.
Gus recalls Granny’s delight, bemused but sincere, as he congratulated her after yet another sporting triumph: her whole heart was in the game; you felt there was nothing more pressing, nothing more important, than you.

Joe – that’s me.
I remember Granny’s presence, sitting near her as I enriched my mind
with a bunch of Beanos from the ‘60s…
[I remember] the heavy scent of yellowed paper that stills the air in the house.
I see her clearly, herding cousins through the climbing trees on Hampstead Heath; then returning home, thrashing through mounds of rusting gold, the plane leaves strewn across Temple Fortune Lane, to the taste of autumn; the puddings she made of blackberries, and three hundred erratic homegrown apples cropped from the garden’s biennial glut.

Rachel remembers Granny remembering. Most of all, Rachel loved to hear the family lore; anecdotes from the juvenile exploits of Nick, and Ali, and Hattie, and Edwina – our parents through their parent’s eyes.
Rachel thinks of Granny’s kindness, the attention she paid to mundane details of our lives, down to the names of friends she’d never meet. Rachel will always be in awe of Granny’s tact: the way she shared her opinions without passing judgement, or gave guidance without ascribing blame; you never felt defensive, never bad, never wrong.

Katie remembers the comfort of sitting on a wooden stool in the kitchen, watching Dar cook. She is pleased she could in turn bring some relief to Dar in later life by massaging sore feet and aching legs.
She recalls clambering into Dar’s bed for a cuddle, to let her know in whispered words how much she was loved.
Katie sees Dar with her greatgrandchildren, watching Sammy and Elijah run frenetic and free around the house, and she realises that Dar’s innate skill lay in letting people know that they were welcome and wanted: hence, the never-ending stream of visitors who wanted to be with her.

Miri remembers the many conversations she had with Dar about their shared interests, in art and culture, and artists featured at Royal Academy exhibitions.
Miri recalls how, when she was most in need, Dar gave her weekly lessons for A-level English literature.
A still life, a jug of chrysanthemums depicted in thick oils by Dar’s own hand, the paint peaking with the form of the flower, reminds Miri of Dar’s talent.
A gift, a long necklace of green beads, each a glistening planet pitted with gold, reminds Miri of Dar’s impeccable eye.

Ros remembers the anticipation of childhood Christmases spent with Dar in the house on Temple Fortune Lane; and, years later, preparing in that same house to ascend the hill
to this same Church on her wedding day, knowing that Dar had rallied from a broken hip and would be here too.
But memories of Dar come overwhelmingly to Ros not as single moments, but as a flood of feeling, a lifetime of encouragement, acceptance, and love. We feel the same: Dar took profound joy in her family.

For each memory in this consanguineous anthology there flourish a thousand more. They prove our values, values Granny passed on to us, which will soon be passed, along with memories of Dar, to Sammy, Elijah, Mwathi, and others yet to come. They prove her tolerance in trying times, her wisdom in times of uncertainty, her influence on each aspect of our lives.

They prove Barbara was the centre of our circle,
she was
the stem of the vine, the hearth of the home, the Focus of our family.
We rejoice in our good fortune, to have been gifted with a grandparental paragon;
We rejoice for the time that she has been in our lives;
We shall remember her in moments of laughter, of celebration, and of calm;
We shall rejoice, ever and always, in the family that was hers.