Marilyn Mayer

Reflections on Marilyn from her daughter Ruby:

Mummy

I wanted to say a few words about my mother just to break up the solemnity and formality of this occasion. – mummy didn’t do solemn and she didn’t do formal- and wouldn’t have wanted her send off to be that way. However, trying to sum up such an original, unique, eccentric and prismatic character proved more difficult than I thought.

Usually my husband is the one for words – but he said he couldn’t, he’d get too emotional – in fact the last time he was overwhelmed was in Nice helping mummy get ready to leave for England. Her final return journey – the usual chaos - clothes everywhere, taxi waiting (French taxis don’t wait!), Billy’s tongue lapping up the Diet coke … and mummy fixing flowers in her hair.

“Why are you crying?” she asked Jon. He explained that he couldn’t bear the fact that she’d been diagnosed with cancer and it might be their last time together there. Mummy looked at his tears quizzically and said, “Hmm, I only cry at parades.”

Many of you have known Marilyn very well and for a very long time. Did you know how much she loved parades? The changing of the Guards? The 21-gun salute? Nice carnaval? even the changing of the window displays in Selfridges?

Marilyn was passionate about good taste, drama, colour, occasion, music and most of all, fun! Laughter, practical jokes, whoopie cushions, wind-up phone calls, breaking rules, belts which jangled, bowls of olives, and Balmain’s Vent Vert perfume – her unique and beautiful style.

A lot for me ever to encapsulate – and in the last few days, form filling and telling people about mum - I’ve been asked, “Did she work?”… what did she do?.... what was Mrs Soames’s occupation? In terms of productivity…. output… Well she occupied life – she was occupied by life. The daily parade of pots of coffee, the Daily Mail… cut out clippings for friends –(although you may not have received any because envelopes, stamps, post boxes… a little complicated to co-ordinate), a ciggie and a think, cashew nuts, a trip to Oxford Street, - or more recently, Les Galleries Lafayette – lunch with a friend, a stroll in Hyde Park or along the Promenade des Anglais – friends, coffee ice-cream – and that’s just 24 hours in the life of Billie, her tri-coloured, priapic Papillon!

She had an eccentric dog to whom she was a slave and she had many, many eccentric ways. The closest comparison would be the person she’d looked up to and emulated in her childhood and teenage years – Scarlett O’Hara. But mummy did things – or didn’t do things - like no-one else.

“A lifelong agoraphobic traveller”, my husband called her in her obituary, which sums up the many dualities in her nature. She was a living oxymoron: a shy people-lover, reclusive socialite, a gourmet who believed that fresh fruit and vegetables grew pre-diced and packaged from Marks & Spencer….. an adventure lover who panicked beyond the Grosvenor Estate…. She adored nature – as long as it was on wallpaper or light-up plastic flowers.

Calm as long as there were no flies in the room and her massage chair was fixed up …………. she loved gossip but never judged or had a bad word to say about anyone…….

She had no grasp on the concept of time. Often she’d be reading a book in the departure lounge long after the plane had left. And she was a dreamer. When others travel to visit museums, art galleries and national monuments, Mimi made appointments in foreign estate agents and wandered through unsuspecting people’s houses, fantasizing about knocking down their walls or putting in walk-in fireplaces!

Of course, for her last holiday, we suggested Nice. I made appointments but when I met mummy at the airport, she’d already made an offer on a ‘bijoux gem’ of a house!

So at 73 mummy embarked on a new chapter, a new life on the Riviera, near the sea, the warmth, the coffees and striped parasols and her adored grandchildren.

But not long after she’d put the white sheets up at the windows and started her usual collection of plastic bags and stolen ashtrays from restaurants, she knew she was getting ill.

Returning to England, she started looking forward to her very last journey – and she filled her last weeks up with laughter, chats, friendships and fun – the nurses adored her - they couldn’t believe anyone could look so amazing and glamorous in a nursing home. They said she must have followed a strict health regime: no smoking, no drinking and days full of work-outs….

Even though she said waiting to die was like waiting for a delayed Ryanair flight, when it came, she was ready…. And smiling.