Remember, remember the 5th of November and so to London with a heavy heart, but young again. Good bits and bad and other stuff, of course.

St. Silas Church in Kentish Town where the funeral took place.
Hi again,

This week was mostly taken up with my trip to London for dear Sanya’s funeral and it's going to be long as there is an awful lot to write about. Sanya was my sister-in-law, the wife of my only and late brother George. She was found dead in her flat on 14th October and I just had to be there for her.

Monday was a bit of a let down as my 2 best friends forgot their lunch appointment with me. I was already a bit down so that didn’t help.

The trip from Tuesday to Thursday was going to be difficult and I was going on my own but I was going back to my country which I don’t do very often so there were going to be good bits about this trip too.

I was going to stay at my niece Sara’s flat round the corner from Marble Arch – what a great location – and she was there to welcome me with open arms as I arrived on Tuesday evening. She showed me round her lovely little pad which she shares with Sibil, her extrovert and lively German Turkish flatmate who works for G+J in London but apparently does most of it at parties!! These two girls brought me back my youth and for two days I felt a bit like them at times, independent and with London at my feet.

Well it is a great city which I have never lived in and only ever pass through but if you think about it, it’s the capital of the world in very many ways, not least because of its melting pot population. I was therefore determined to make the best of this difficult trip and most of that was thanks to Sarita.

On the first night I took Sara out to dinner and as I didn't know the area she showed me a street (James Street) with restaurants from at least 10 countries. We settled for a Turkish place she had been to before called Grand Bazaar where the wine was awful but the food was superb. It was very cosy and decorated with Turkish lamps and quite authentic.
Sara and I outside the Grand Bazaar restaurant.
Sanya’s funeral was to take place the next day, an important day in English life, the 5th November being Guy Fawkes Day or Bonfire night as it is often called, but it also turned out to be an important day in world history; the day the first black man was elected President of the United States. Yes, Barack Hussein Obama had won the elections the day before and London was brimming with the news.

The funeral was taking place at 11.30 at St. Silas Church in Kentish Town. Of course I used public transport and picked up an Oyster Card, recommended by my cost conscious niece for discount travelling in London. It was raining and I wanted to get to the church early to talk to Father G but I also had to find some flowers. I was not in luck as I left Chalk Farm Underground station and went from one Asian-run off licence to another. Some had flowers but none were good enough for Sanya. So I walked down the burka lined street off Haverstock Hill and finally found a Sainsbury’s where I got an ok only looking bunch of flowers. There was no way you could remove the label though so they had to be placed the wrong side up at Church and you couldn’t even see them. I felt so bad about that!!

I arrived at the church which was a typical early 20th century structure and rather grim looking at least from the outside. And there on the entrance was a poster announcing Sanya’s funeral. Father G certainly had certainly made a great effort.
Notice on the church door
And there he was inside the church as I walked in, laying the finishing touches on all the preparations for a full blown Church of England funeral. And full blown it was and very traditional too but I'm not too sure about the C of E part. St. Silas is officially C of E but is very obviously High Church judging by many of the things I saw and heard, not least the vocabulary as they talked about “mass” rather than “service” and “priest” or “Father” rather than “Vicar”. What was also rather telling was the inclusion of the very Catholic prayer, “Hail Mary” which I recognised from my Catholic school days. Don't think I mind at all, which I don't, these are just curious observations.

Father G was a treat to meet. He must be in his 60’s and is a dedicated clergyman who makes you feel very welcome. I can see what attracted Sanya to him and am extremely grateful for how he cared for her when she was alive and how he went all out to put on a very good funeral for her.

He wears the traditional vestments, including the old fashioned round clergy hat, yet he is also a man of his times. I mean he uses e-mail and looks very practical.

The funeral seemed old fashioned but was very special. It was also somber and solemn, very intense but not dismal like the Orthodox funerals for my Mother and my Brother. Father G was definitely dressed for the occasion with his black and silver funeral vestments. The same material was used to cover the coffin which was brought in by 4 professional pall bearers! Father G had printed a small order of the day for us all to follow which was another sign of how well he had prepared the funeral.

The small sprinkling of attendants emphasised the church’s big size. On one side were a few people from the congregation, including “Win”, the lady church warden who had been Sanya’s friend and “Lucas”, a “spaced out” and ungroomed middle aged bloke who I knew to be Sanya’s friend too. He told me he was her “new partner” and I felt terribly sorry for him.

On the other side sat Sanya’s step family. I sat next to her step mother, Mira, a good looking Bosnian woman who lives in London and her son and Sanya’s step brother, Mladen who lives in Zagreb but frequently visited Sanya in London. He told me strickenly how he had tried to contact her at the end of September unsuccessfully. They were joined by 4 of Mira’s Bosnian friends who seemed very kind ladies.

The funeral included communion and here I had an inner debate with myself. I hadn’t taken communion for about 30 years and finally decided I should do so for Sanya and for me, I suppose. I made the faux pas of going up to the altar as I used to when I went to church in England and the famous Brandon Jackson was my vicar. Embarrassedly I had to walk down again to the first pew to receive Holy Communion. Suffice it to say it was an emotional moment.

The coffin was sprinkled with holy water and with incense and then left the church in a cortege carried by the pall bearers with Father G in front. We all followed behind and outside there was a big black funeral car for the coffin and two similar big black limousines to carry us to the cemetery in East Finchley. Father G and the pall bearers walked ahead of the cortege and the cars followed at a snails pace for a few hundred yards until they got in and the engines were turned on and the cortege drove off to cemetery which all seemed quite Dickensian to me or so I thought.

I went in the car with Win and Lucas and Lucas’ care nurse and we went past opulent London houses in places like Bishop’s Avenue and the contrast was bizarre. It was very much a repeat experience of when we took my Brother George’s coffin to the cemetery because Sanya was to be buried in the plot next to him.

When we arrived I saw David. David was Sanya and George’s friend and had been my brother’s best man at their wedding. I hadn’t seen him at the funeral and was worried he didn’t know about it. When I used to visit Sanya I would also visit David and the 3 of us would spend time together. I used to take them flowers, chocolates and cigarettes and I always knew I had made their day. David is a man with many problems, mental and other, including gambling and the poor chap is very unkempt. Every time I see him I feel like taking him to the baths and then buying him a new set of clothes. He needs both desperately but neither seem possible in the life he leads, that is, if you can call it a life! I was very pleased to see him as I am extremely fond of him.

The cemetery threw me emotionally. Seeing the tombstone on my brother’s grave made me break down. I didn’t listen to the priest’s words, just kept looking at my brother’s name in gold letters, “George Lloyd” and the inscription, “In loving memory of George Lloyd, who died on 15th May 2001, aged 46, beloved husband of Sanja”. Amazingly Sanya was also 46 on the day she died as Mladin pointed out. We threw white roses and earth on her coffin and Mladin and I put some of the flowers on George’s grave too.
George and Sanya's graves at East Finchley Cemetery

Sadly we all left and went back to the church in the same cortege. This time David came with me. I must admit that between him and Lucas the sleek and luxurious jaguar began to reek of unclean bodily skin which I was actually to put up with for the next few hours.
David Waring
We couldn’t part without a “send off” which is a very typical way to end funerals in England. So I suggested a cup of tea at the Church Hall and both Father G and Win thought that was a good idea. Being in that church hall, making the tea with Win and laying the table took me back to my days of Sunday school and Guides when I was a child in England. Making the tea for Sanya’s Bosnian step family and David who kept asking them all to repeat their foreign names was a funny experience. We all sat round a small square Sunday school table for children in the middle of a big room next to the church with children’s drawings on the wall and we all had English tea and biscuits and tried to make polite conversation.

When the family left, Win, David and I stayed on chatting. David was in obvious need of company and asked me how long I had. I said, “for you David, one hour”. In the end I think I was there for nearly 3 during which we talked about George, about Sanya, about God and about mundane things in life. There I promised to be David’s friend and to write to both him and Win. When we were leaving, he said: “I don’t just want a Christmas card, I want a 3 or 4 page letter”. Now I have to keep to my promise!
Dear Win, the Church Warden and Sanya's friend.
David took me all the way back to Marble Arch, he was such a gentleman. I felt sad to leave him. He actually told me, “you cheer me up” which was very special to hear. Dear David, I will write to you and I won’t forget you, I promise.

As I parted with a heavy heart from David at Marble Arch, I came back to my world and decidedly needed some comforting activity. So what better than an hour or so in Marks and Spencers before Sarita came back from work?

Marks and Spencers certainly brought me back to my world of consumer goods and earthly things and I acquired a lovely winter coat and an assortment of Mark’s best underwear, creams and potions.

Sara and I decided we wanted an Indian meal this time and after a bit of a search, came across a great little place called Rajdoot restaurant in Paddington Street. The onion bajis, the chicken tikka masala and lamb korma were superb. We walked home through typical London streets and laughed at a sign outside on some gardens which boasted having “the best loo of the year”!

Once at home, we both connected to our computers and Sara spoke to her parents, José Antonio (Eladio’s beloved brother) and Dolores on Skype. 

I wasn’t leaving for Madrid until Thursday afternoon so decided to visit a museum, instead of spending money, before I left. I thought of going to the Victoria and Albert Museum or the Natural History and Natural Science museums but suddenly remembered that I had a debt with my Mother to visit

The Wallace Collection. My Mother had lived in London in the 40’s when she came to England as a war refugee and before she was married to my Father, of course. She always told me the Wallace Collection was her favourite museum. It turned out to be a stone’s throw from Sarita’s flat. My Mother’s judgement was not wrong. The Wallace Collection is supposedly “the finest collection of art ever assembled by one family. Five generations of collectors, four Marquesses of Hertford and Sir Richard Wallace, each made their special contribution". The collection is housed in the family home of Hertford House, a magnificent building in itself, in Manchester Place. The “collection” comprises artefacts of all sorts; furniture and paintings. Amazingly they include Velazquez’s, Murillo’s, Titians as well as a portrait made world famous by a chocolate company, the Laughing Cavailer by Hals.
Hertford House, the home of the Wallace Collection.

Too soon my time was up and I had to go back to the flat to pick up my things and take my suitcase and laptop down the steep British stairs to the street and so by foot to Park Lane to catch the number 73 bus to Victoria Station. There I cashed in my Oyster card and made a quick foray into Smith’s to get some chocolates for my Father and some very British Christmas cards.

As I made my way through the station to the Gatwick Express platform I went past the omnipresent Poppy Appeal stall. In England in the month of November poppies are sold everywhere to make money for the British Legion which looks after army families and are worn in rememberance of the fallen in the "Great War" which is actually the First World War. It was so quaint, I just had to take a picture. The 4 gentlemen were very representative and I gave them my remaining British coins and got 5 paper poppies in exchange to take back home for the family. If all of England were wearing poppies, my Father and I and my family were not to be less. Of course, no one in Spain will understand but that is to be expected.
The Poppy Appeal stand at Victoria Station
Eladio was at the airport to greet me and bring me home to my real world. Home for me is always “home sweet home” wherever I have been so it was good to be back.

I think I am still under the impression of Sanya’s death and the experience of the funeral and all it entailed. I will need some time to feel normal again. Family and work life of course will contribute to that happening.

Home again, was another story of a problem car. The old Lancia had broken down, so now from 4 cars we are down to 2 which is a bit of a problem when you live far out like we do. This week coming up will be challenging.

Friday was spent catching up with my work and also meeting my friend Elena for our monthly chat. This time she was cheering me up rather than her!

Tonight we will be going out to dinner with ex Motorola friends, Susana and Gustavo and Marian and her new partner. No doubt we will talk about the news of Motorola Spain laying off 30% of its workforce this last week as that includes some of our friends. We are going to a new place called Jiménez in Majadahonda. But more about that in my next post.

Cheers
Masha

A week of good news and bad

José Antonio, me and Miguel on the walk in the snow in Montrondo on Saturday morning..
Hello again

I have just written the post on Sanya’s story, this week’s really bad news and which deserved a post in its own right. I could hardly tell poor dear Sanya’s story as just something else that happened this week. I won’t go in to that as you can read it below. But will move on to the other things that happened this week.

Tuesday was sort of Black Tuesday because of Sanya’s news. But that day also the majority shareholder of my company announced it might be selling our company off. I had to deal with that with the press and will continue to do so as the story will not go away which is certainly not my favourite sort of PR. That one sentence felt like a jug of cold water over my work of the past 2 years.

But Tuesday was not all black as that day I spoke and heard the voice of one of my favourite colleagues of all times, Joao MD. Joao was the country manager in Portugal at Motorola and we worked very closely together in the mid 90’s. He later left to work for the American owned operator, Telecel which later became Vodafone. We kept in touch for a while but the years went by and I stopped going to Lisbon with my new jobs and so “lost” Joao. I tried to find him on Facebook and LinkedIn but, surprisingly, he wasn’t there. I found him through Fátima on Tuesday who was at the Penha Longa Hotel for some company gathering and Joao was there. It was from there that they rang me and I heard Joao’s voice. It was quite emotional to hear him and also to think he was calling from the very place where we had launched the StarTac some years ago together. I will never forget bringing a puma (real live animal) from Spain in a van for that event and what an adventure that was in itself. Remember Joao??? (I'm editing this this Monday morning as I remembered later that Joao had actually left Motorola when that event took place but he came as our star guest so he will remember everything, including the puma!

Other things that happened this week, was lunch with Santi at La Albufera and lunch with Juan and Susana at Aspen. Santi was fine, happy to have to have moved into his new flat and working on Christmas stuff for me which looks very promising. Juan and Susana were looking good. They worked on my account at the previous PR agency and are two of the best account executives I have ever come across. I still miss them which is why we make the effort to meet regularly.

Wednesday was a special day as it was Marguerite’s 100th birthday. Marguerite was our neighbour in England, at 5 Heaton Grove. When my parents moved to 6 Heaton Grove in the mid 60’s, the Wrights had been there already for many years. Mr. Wright died when I was quite young, during the miners’ strike in the 70’s and after that Susan, the daughter, and Marguerite carried on living there and still do today. They were very good neighbours, specially when my Father became a widower. Daddy and I sent Marguerite some flowers and we rang her on Wednesday. It seemed she had a big family party going and sounded very happy. I asked her what it felt like to be 100 and she said “just the same my dear”.
Mrs. Wright as she was in May when I went to see her during the St. Joseph's College reunion.
Wednesday was also my sister-in-law, Yoli’s birthday. We were able to celebrate it all together this Saturday in Montrondo when the family gathered together for All Saints’ day in the family village. Yoli, by the way, is Isidro’s wife, Isidro being Eladio’s youngest brother.

Friday was Halloween. The girls plan their Halloween celebration with great care and detail and I am sure you will agree when you see how they looked this year.

We did not celebrate Halloween as such, but did celebrate All Saints’ day and All Souls’ day by going to Montrondo to be with the family and take flowers to the “abuelo’s” grave. We were not able to take my Father as he is still recovering from the operation from his foot. Fortunately as I write upon our return today on Sunday he seems to have taken a turn for the better.

The trip to Montrondo for me was a tonic to get over the recent bad news and it certainly did me some good. Eladio and I drove out on Friday to join José Antonio, his beloved brother, and Miguel, my beloved nephew, at their new house next to the main family house. It rained all the way and the journey was broken with a stop for lunch at the Parador in Tordesillas.

We arrived in Montrondo late on Friday afternoon to a temperature of 0ºC. That did not stop us venturing out and walking to Murias and back in the cold and dark. We needed to work up an appetite for dinner and move our legs after the car trip. I enjoyed cooking for those 3 lovely men and we had a great meal of tortilla, jamón and salad washed down by one of the bottles of wine from my new collection.

The next morning we woke up to snow. The village was covered in white and I sincerely hoped we would be snow bound and imagined being rescued by a helicopter and coming out on the news. But that was not to be as the snow soon melted. The rest of the family were coming for lunch so there was just time to cook lentils on the Aga and go for a 2 hour walk up the mountains to the “Abedular” plain and back before the family arrived.

Waking up to snow in Montrondo on Saturday was pure joy!
Miguel, Eladio and José Antonio having breakfast on Saturday morning.

It was during lunch that the good news of the week was announced. It was unexpected too. There we were, Eladio and his 2 sisters and 3 brothers, their partners, his Mother and a sprinkling of the older generation of nieces and nephews (Roberto, Ana, Marta, Fernando and Miguel) when suddenly we heard that Ana was pregnant (Ana is the wife of Roberto who is the son of Adela who is the sister of Eladio). Adela was sitting in front of me and saying “this is first time I am hearing this” which I found quite amazing. Suddenly she was going to be a Grand Mother!!! The whole moment was quite emotional and extremely happy too. Congratulations Roberto and Ana and Adela and Primo, long live the Freijo family.
The happy couple, Roberto and Ana
So from thinking about a future member of the family, we went on to thinking about a past one, of Antonio, Eladio’s Father who died in 2005. It is Antonio who always reunites us and reunite us he did once again on Saturday as we all walked together after lunch to the cemetery in Montrondo to place 6 red roses, one from each son and daughter, on his grave.
Some of the family on our way to the cemetery on Saturday
We found other people tending graves there as we knew to be happening all over graves in Spain that day. If you have seen that marvellous film, Volver, by Almodóvar, you will know what I mean.
The cemetery on Saturday in Montrondo.
Antonio's grave with the 6 red roses
Soon the family left as it was dark and beginning to snow. Despite the weather, once again, the 3 men and I ventured out and walked to Murias and back to stretch our legs and work up an appetite for a cosy dinner round the table in Toño’s kitchen.

You can see the full collection of the photos of our trip this weekend to Montrondo here on Facebook.

And all too soon the weekend was over and we were packing and leaving for Madrid again. The tonic worked its trick and we have come back in a more refreshed state of mind.

This week will be tough because of the funeral but now, perhaps, I am more ready to cope with it. I will be staying with Sarita (guapa), my niece and Miguel’s sister, at her place in Marble Arch. I look forward to time with her and of course, time at Marks and Spencers. But that story will have to wait till next week as it hasn’t been written yet.

Cheers
Masha

A call from the police in London. Sanya’s story.

Sanya and George on their wedding day in February 1999.
Hi,

Lately I feel as though I have been a bit out of luck. It all started with Susana’s accident nearly 2 weeks ago. I’ve had my share of bad luck, of course, but I know myself for a being a very fortunate person with all the important things in life in place, my family, my home, my friends and my job.

Tuesday last week topped it all. It was a grey and wet day and there had been some not very good news at work which I had spent the whole day dealing with vs a vs the press and was feeling rather down and stressed. It was getting dark and I was going to go for my daily walk when the phone rang and the caller was anonymous. The person calling was Julia and she was a policewoman from London.

Why would a policewoman from London call me you may wonder? I knew immediately and shuddered at the thought. I knew she was calling about Sanya.

Sanya was the wife of my dear brother George. Sanya was a lovely sad and cultured girl from Belgrade. They met some 10 years ago in a residence in London for people with difficulties such as depression or mental illnesses. They got married very quietly and on their own and in fact the first time I met Sanya was at my Mother’s funeral in October 1999. Sanya adored my brother and their love was beautiful and true. George fell ill very shortly after that with melanoma, that most deadly of cancers and died on 15th May 2001. After that Sanya found she had very little to live for.
George and I in 1976, what a handsome boy he was.
When I worked for Nokia I went to London on many occasions and was able to visit her. Those visits were very intense. I used to go and see her at Haverstock Hill in Belsize Park at the residence and would spend hours talking to her and very often hugging her and loving her. Sanya had virtually no friends and I knew just how much she needed a bit of love. I tried to invite her to Madrid but she couldn’t travel. Unfortunately with my new job I never went to London so hadn’t seen her since 2005. It was difficult to keep in touch because she lived in her own little world and didn’t make much use of the new technologies. Even so and probably to make me feel better, more than her, I would send her a card and present at Christmas. Once she wrote back and I am now desperately looking for that letter. Whilst my Father lived in England, up until 2005, he would visit her once a month from Bradford and together they would visit George’s grave.

So when the policewoman called on Tuesday I knew it was about Sanya. Julia told me the shocking story of her death. She had been found dead in her flat in London on 17th October. The cause it seems was natural but awful because it was malnutrition and pneumonia. How, I ask myself, is that possible in London in 2008?

Later I heard that Sanya did have friends in her new flat in Burmarsh in North London, somewhere near Chalk Farm. I had been worried for her because I knew that she had to move out of the residence and was dreading it as she did not want to live on her own.

She was quite religious and started visiting the church nearby called St. Silas and it seems that this is where her new life picked up. The Vicar of St. Silas, Father G, whom I spoke to this week, befriended her and is the person taking care of all the arrangements including her funeral next week. All I can say is God bless him.

Father G told me Sanya had been going through a bad patch. Someone from his church went to visit her on 14th October but there was no answer. When they went back on 17th October, they found her dead.

I am, of course, going to go the funeral. There is something inside me making me go and I know I have to do this for Sanya and for myself. Sanya will be buried in the plot next to George in East Finchley Cemetery.

Darling Sanya, I cannot forgive myself for not having kept more in touch, for not having tried to take more care of you. Darling Sanya, thank you for loving my dear poor brother and thank you for looking after him during his terrible illness. Darling Sanya, I know the awful life you had and all I can say now my dearest is rest in peace and that you will be forever in my thoughts.

Goodbye my darling, goodbye.

Masha