Linda Irene Eldridge 20 March 1947 - 26 October 2021.
Mum, Linda Irene Eldridge, was born on 20th March 1947. It was a long winter when snow fell every day for 55 days. It had only just begun to thaw as Nan neared full term and mum was born. Reminiscing about her childhood Mum often attributed her strength to Nan carrying her through that brutal winter.
Mum was younger sister to John, and daughter to our Nan “Ivy” or Irene and Grandad David Benton. Mum was close to her dad, who died when mum was only 14 and she missed him sorely throughout her life. Mum came from a large East End family, Nanny Ivy, was one of nine surviving siblings; and mum was particularly close to her cousins Alice, Freddie, Flo and Patti.
Like thousands of others much of the family moved out to Essex. Our childhood was full of the love, laughter and loyalty of a tight knit cockney family. Family parties and special occasions spent with Aunt Alice and Flo and the gang and Christmases with Uncle John and our cousins Nick and Sophie. John fondly recalls holidays with Nanny Ivy and Grandad David and Mum when they were children at Jaywick.
He is grateful for the way mum always stood by him through some tough times. And for the affectionate way she always called him Johnny. Mum and Uncle John always had a strong, loving bond and I know how much you miss Mum already.
Perhaps inevitably with three young children, born in successive years the focus of mum’s life shifted more fully on to family life in the mid-seventies. But friendships that mum forged as she left school and began work at Truman’s with Barbara, Margaret, Brenda, and the girls were lifelong, loyal, and constant.
Mum loved music and singing, and her friends remember mum belting out “Yellow Bird” and “Mr Tambourine Man”. The only trouble was mum couldn’t hold a tune to save her life and murdered anything as soon she got going. But she would never stop and “shuddup and leave me alone, I’m enjoying it” was a refrain we heard many times over the years.
The move to Essex from the East End also began a lifelong friendship with Francis who lived just down the road.
I don’t know where to start Francis. You’ve been such a wonderful friend to her over the years. We want to say thank you. Friendship was so important to mum. She was bereft when her friend Bridget went to live in Australia, but they kept in touch by letter and card and spoke on the phone at least every new year. Until mum discovered Facebook. Mum loved Facebook by the way. She said, “she could have a good nose and see everything what was going on”. Mum was so happy when Bridget made the trip over to the UK in 2018, and they were together again at last.
Mum and dad met in the Unicorn pub in Old Ford. At the time it was a happening place frequented by West Ham players and was always packed. Dad couldn’t get anywhere near the bar but saw mum was about to get served. There was no sign of mum being chatted up by a footballer. And Dad ascertained that mum was only with one other friend. So, it wouldn’t be an expensive round and Dad offered to buy their drinks if mum ordered his and his mates drinks as well. Mum and dad got talking and he asked her out for a Chinese. And that was it. Dad’s often pondered over the years that if mum hadn’t hit the jackpot with him, she could have ended up a WAG.
The first years of marriage were about keeping their heads above water. Dad worked long hours for modest wages and mum raised three young children. But although there could be fireworks from time to time mum knew she’d married a dreamer and indulged many of dad’s hair-brained schemes. Not least when one day dad went out at eight o’clock in the morning and came back that afternoon with two greyhound pups. I daresay the atmosphere was frosty. But mum never made him get rid of them and fed the pups in their paddock at the end of the garden all the same.
Mum loved the things we did as a family, the holidays in Cornwall when we were children and later on the days out she had with dad in Rye, and Whitstable and Bodiam. She loved the cruises they went on together. Mum liked nothing better than to put on a nice frock and see dad in a suit or black tie. And to get their picture taken and have dinner. Mum could be a little taciturn but enjoyed meeting new people on their table. One cruise they were sat with three gay couples over the week and mum said she’d never laughed so much. One holiday they had an inexperienced waiter. Called Pablo. And one evening as Pablo pulled out mum’s chair for her he complimented her on how lovely she looked in her dress. Quick as a flash mum looked at dad and looked at Pablo and she said “Did he tell you to say that?”
And of course, dad had, he wanted “my Linda” to feel nice. It says something I think of their marriage that we rarely heard dad refer to mum as “Linda”. She was always “my Linda”.
I think it’s fair to say that growing up I was the goody two shoes of myself, Dennis and Faye. Although in recent years Dennis has shot to the top of the respectability table.
Though I was rarely in trouble when I did step out of line mum was keen that I know that I would be told off like my siblings. In summer 1984, for some reason, when I got separated from mum in Romford, instead of going to Trevor and the shoe stall as I was meant to if I got lost, I went back to the car at Como Street car park. I waited and then eventually after a while mum turned up. She said “right, you, if you think I’m going to take you to see Indiana Jones and the Temple Doom, this afternoon, you’ve got another thing coming mate”. And then she burst in to tears. And she held me like I’d never been held before.
Particularly when we were children mum loved to bake. In the week before Christmas the baking was like a military operation that took over the house, hundreds and hundreds of mince pies and sausage rolls, would fill Tupperware after Tupperware. Dad would come in and eat a warm sausage roll and think better of saying anything. And mum would make jam tarts. Hundreds of them as well. They were for Dennis really. As he wasn’t that fussed by the mince pies.
Even as a child I could see how much pleasure it gave mum making them for Dennis. And how much he loved mum making them for him. Dennis would never fail to get his Christmas order in well in to his forties.
The mother-in-law-daughter-in-law relationship can sometimes be tense but never so between mum and Marie. There was nothing but deep affection, respect and love. Your marriage gave mum great pleasure and I know mum would want me to take a moment now to say how heartbroken for you and Christine we all are that you lost your lovely dad Peter just a week before we lost mum.
Mum didn’t really understand the notion of a modest portion size. Like many of her generation from a working-class family eating well was a sign of prosperity. Faye never had the family appetiser of a prawn cocktail as she was allergic to the prawns. Mum always worried we didn’t have enough to eat. On more than one Christmas lunch mum served Faye a starter of a half a pack of Brussels Pate.
Mum loved the three of us equally and never favoured one over the other. But mum and Faye grew a more intimate relationship as adults as they just saw much more of each other. Sometimes they could spark off each other if mum gave advice. Especially if it was while Faye was doing a fitness work out while mum was watching her from the armchair while eating a slice of cake. Mum and Faye’s relationship, always flared brightly, a chemical compound with 2% friction and 98% adoration in the mutual care and support they gave each other. They spoke on the phone every single day.
Mum had six grandchildren and they were her greatest pleasure. Mum loved gift-giving on any special or every day occasion but more than anything she loved to treat her grandchildren. She knitted for them as she did us when we were children. She delighted in Niamh, Lois and Charles activities; the girls dancing and musicality, Charles skill at playing golf and football, their academic achievements and glowing school reports, their beautiful manners, the holidays and days out they had – everything they did.
Niamh says that mum’s favourite word was “John” as she liked to use it so much. John is a word mum could say in many ways [mimic mum saying John]. On Niamh’s first holiday with mum as a toddler mum used her favourite so much the second word Niamh ever learned to say was “John”. I know how keenly Niamh, Lois and Charles miss their nanny, but she lives on in each of you and she was so proud of you, and you must carry that with you always.
Mum knew her youngest grandchildren, my sons, Bertie, Wilf and George a little less well as we don’t live close by but she never loved them any the less. Bertie was always greeted with hugs and cuddles and the fondest “hello mate, how’s my Bertie” and she always longed to see him more often. And although the Coronavirus pandemic has got in the way of mum knowing Wilf and George better, mum was so happy I met Caro. Mum loved spending time with her youngest grandchildren. Its very precious that even in the last months of her life and when mum became frail she was able to cradle George.
Mum was made of metal forged in the long freeze of forty-seven. But even a tungsten ring will fracture under enough pressure. I want to say thank you to Hillside Nursing Home where mum spent the last weeks of her life. The love and care the staff showed for mum and us was beautiful. I’ll never forget the balloons and congratulatory signs they put up to mark mum and dad’s fiftieth wedding anniversary – and their honesty and compassion. On the last day it was so touching, and says much, that as mum’s carers completed their shifts, they came to say goodbye. “Stay strong, Linda, go well”.
Dad, Dennis, Faye and I were by mum’s side. We talked a lot to each other and to mum. I still can’t get over hearing for the first time in years Dennis say “mama” and Faye say “mummy”. We reminisced and told jokes, consoled each other and told mum how much we loved her.
There was such an intensity and clarity in the way mum looked at us. I think she was saying “I love you” back in the only way she could.
Endings are hard. But while we’re saying goodbye to mum this morning, she lives on in the stories we tell about her and in the actions of all of us she so profoundly shaped. And in the love, she nurtured.
Sleep well mum, rest easy now, don’t worry about anything. You don’t have to shout “John” anymore. He’s already got the leg of lamb out of the freezer.
Sleep well mum, rest easy now, don’t worry about anything. You don’t have to shout “John” anymore. He’s already got the leg of lamb out of the freezer.
Now it’s time for you to rest in peace and for us to carry all you held dear forwards. We’ll do our best to make you proud. Good night mum. You’re the best.
