Maiden Name : Clements

Date of Birth: 22 / 03 / 1927

Date of Passing: 07 / 03 / 2005

Location : Kirton Lindsey, United Kingdom

Relationship: Mother

Epitaph:

Mum,(Sybil) loved poetry. This is a little verse that was in one of her hand-written poetry books - and it kind of sums Mum up:

I live for those who love me,
For those who honour me true.
For the Heaven that smiles above me,
And awaits my spirit too.
For the cause that lacks assistance,
For the wrong that needs resistance.
For the future in the distance,
And all the good that I can do.......

Tribute:

Sybil Mary Ray (née Clements)

Sybil M Clements was born in a small village near Kirton
Lindsey in Lincolnshire on March 22nd, 1927.
Her parents were called George and Rose. They were the tough, hard-working
stock, salt-of-the-earth type that one encountered regularly amongst the working
classes back then. I am proud to say that Sybil was my Mum. She, her parents
and brothers and sisters, lived, a family of 8, in a small works cottage; a situation
that nowadays people would be appalled by. But perhaps in that humble little
house, with that close-knit family and with equally close neighbours who really
did care about each other, my mum was more loved, cared for and guided than
many youngsters today who live in veritable luxury! No offence intended. It was
a different world, with different values. She grew up with many good, honest and
decent traits and I like to think, bless her, that she managed to pass many of the
best of them on to me and for that I am thankful.
Sybil had a colourful life with brothers and sisters, who all loved her very much. Unlike many in those days, George and
Rose’s family never really went hungry, despite lack of money. Her brothers
were expert and proficient poachers, and knew how to wheel and deal with the
best of them! She loved to share tales of her girlhood with my brothers and me
when we were young - and we loved to listen - it always sounded as though it, in
many ways, was a much better world then.
She told us tales of local ghost stories, or fascinating and eccentric characters
from her past. And all the happy times she, her sisters and her brothers had spent together
when it was hard work and a fight to survive but there was so much love and
support and company around, that it never seemed hard.
She could remember walking through 8 feet high snow drifts to get to the next
village in winter, scraping the ice of her bedroom window to look at the Christmas
day laying before her. But this was the days when a youngster was delighted to
receive an orange, apple and pack of nuts for a present, not a Play Station or
X-Box or the latest craze like today!
She was never what you’d call career-driven, ever. What was always important
to Mum were her family, her friends and an occasional game of bingo! She just
wanted work that paid the bills, allowed her a little spending money and kept her
busy. Sybil was, very quietly, an artist and a poet who loved all things romantic.
Not that with 3 brothers, she ever let on! I still have collections of her poetry and
poetry she wrote down during the war, some written by military personnel she
met, and I treasure them immensely.
She worked as a NAAFI girl throughout the 2nd World War until she was swept
off her feet by my Dad George during her time with the NAAFI, and finally made
an honest man of him in 1952. They had three children - my 2 brothers and me, and despite its ups and downs (as in any marriage), they
stayed together and were very happy.
Mum was a trailblazer for girl power in the 60’s when she bought and opened her
own corner shop in Kirton Lindsey. When most ladies were happy to be a
hosuewife then, my Mum was running her own business - and running it well.
She helped a lot of people then, by letting them have stuff on account until their
wages came through - she was a kind lady.
Unfortunately, for some reason which I never learned, she eventually sold her
shop and we moved to her home village to be closer to her family and Dad’s work at the
Blue Circle Cement Works. Perhaps the feminist in her just burnt out...
From there she was happy to do little jobs, she even returned to the NAAFI for a
spell, back to her roots, just part-time working in the shop, so it didn’t interfere to
much with family.
In her later years she and Dad moved to Kirton Lindsey, to a cosy bungalow where they spent their golden years very happily.
Sadly, Dad passed away before her in 1998 and Sybil’s world almost stopped
turning - I didn’t realise until much later just how much she missed Dad, and
hated being without him. But, showing her typical quiet strength though, she
rallied, for her families’ sake; she knew we needed her.
Sybil was, in her day, a great beauty, with superb dress sense, making the
simplest of outfits look good. Even in her seventies she had an elegance that
shone through the laughter-lines, which lifted her above others. She had such
style and quiet dignity. I don’t ever remember her really saying anything bad
about anyone and she was always, always, devoted to her family.
I wish now that I had written her stories down, kept some of her beautiful clothes
from the 50s. I regret so much that I didn’t. As I grow older, my memory of so
many things fades, especially now I can’t hear her voice.
My Mum passed away in 2005, on March 7th; the day after Mother’s Day. She
had lung cancer. There is nothing more to say about that dreadful, cruel disease
really. She just faded away before our very eyes. It was awful. I so hope and
pray that she didn’t suffer - she wouldn’t have let on if she did - that was Mum,
she never wanted to be a bother to anyone.
They say the memory of the voice is the last thing that fades in your memory
when a loved one passes - I’ll cling on to mum’s for as long as I can. She was a
very special lady who was incredibly spiritual, it is sad that I never realised how
much until soon after she died and we began to pack away her things. She had
beautiful images of the Madonna and Jesus all over the place; cut from favourite
Christmas cards, birthday cards and pictures - though she never pressed her
faith on anyone forcefully, just quietly declared her love of God whenever the
occasion arose.
At her funeral, just like at my Dad’s, the Church was packed, and again, like my
Dad’s, her grave was a sea of colour, beautiful bouquets and tributes. Her life
was simple in many ways, and quiet, she lived it a lot of the time for other
people, and yet she lived it well, and was very much loved by everyone who
knew her.
I wish I’d told her how much I loved her, so much more often than I did.

God bless Mum, and rest in peace now.