Derek Bennett The Euro Sceptic: REMBEMBERING ROSE

Bert & Rose Bennett, walking the Welsh hills and mountains they so loved.

Yesterday was one of those days which you always know is going to happen at some stage, but never want that day to come – that day was the day of my dear old mother’s funeral.

With all that has been going on since she died on the 4th December, there hasn’t been too much time for blogging as my brother, Bruce, and I have been busy organising things. Am at least pleased to say that all went as it should have yesterday, the funeral directors did an excellent job and helped greatly, the service was taken by the Reverend Mark Kinder, who my brother knew. Mark was splendid and guided us through the service and both Bruce and I spoke about Rose, our mother.

These days are always bitter sweet, bitter for the loss of someone who you loved and cared for, sweet for the reunion of family and friends who you never see often enough. In fact many friends and family from not only the Midlands, but also from North Wales where she and my dad retired to 23 years ago made the journey to Walsall. So too did relatives from Middlesbrough in the North East as well as cousins from the South East and Derbyshire – it was so good to see them all again.

The reception after the funeral service was held in the Lyndon House Hotel, where we all like so much, including my mom. Ken and his staff, as usual, were excellent in the way they looked after us and so many of the guests were impressed with the place, which I consider to be the best hotel and watering hole in Walsall.

When I spoke about Rose I told of her young days, growing up in what can only be described as the slums of Birmingham as one of six sisters. She could be loving, incredible stubborn, generous and fearlessly loyal. Both my parents had a love of North Wales, as kids we had holidays around Barmouth every year. In 1965 the purchased a small end terrace house in Blaenau Ffestiniog, it was a tiny place but they spent as much time there as the business would allow. Two years later they sold that place and purchased a slightly bigger house on the edge of the town. It was never somewhere you could really live, there was no hot water expect that you boiled in the kitchen, which was a lean to cut out of the hillside. The only heating was an open fire and a few paraffin heaters, but we had some good times there – including all the friends of Bruce and myself who used to pile in there and sleep in the bunk room where there were two bunk beds and a couple of divan beds.

Finally, in 1980 they sold that house and purchased, what was to become their retirement home, in the village of Dolwyddelan five miles away – they finally retired in 1987 and sold their Walsall home so they could spend the rest of their days in walking the Welsh mountains they so loved.

Sadly, age caught up with them and my father, Bertram Bennett (Bertie to all his family and friends), died in 1999 aged 84, he was nine years older than my mom. When he died we took his ashes up Moel Siabod, which is the mountain which overlooks and dominated the village below, and on a ledge whith a view of Dolwyddelan below we spread his ashes and said goodbye. Soon, when we are ready, we will return to the same location to do the same for Rose so she can spend all eternity with my dad.

These are sad and strange times, yesterday we had the funeral of my mom, today is my birthday and next week it will be Christmas. There are three sets of cards in our home, sympathy cards, birthday cards and Christmas cards. Strange times indeed.

Soon her home in Dolwyddelan will be sold and Bruce and I will have the job of clearing the house, we made a start last weekend and found lots of thing that gave memories of happier times. On the day the keys are given to the new owner all links to the village and North Wales will be cut and there will be little incentive for us to return, other than to remember. Goodbye Rose, she was a mother that battled for us as kids and gave us values, for which Bruce and I are eternally grateful. I thank you too, dear reader of this blog, for putting up with my indulgence of remembering my mother.