Kathleen “Kay” Durward: Nanna
In memory (19/12/1912 - 29/5/2010)
It is a daunting task to distil a long life (97 years!) into a few short words of tribute. There are so many memories, my own and yours. I hope you recognise her in my words.
My earliest childhood memories are of “Langlea”, a home of big spaces and generous love. Listening in the early morning for the tea to be delivered, a sign that I could climb from my bed and join Nanna and Bumpa in their room; playing on the rowing machine while Bumpa shaved and brushed his hair, parting it carefully, brush in each hand; standing beside Nanna at her dressing table, mesmerised by the treasure trove of face-cream, nail-varnish, hair-spray, and her amazing collection of morning instruments, from cuticle-trimmer to a silver-backed hairbrush that had been her mother’s; then rushing off to dress myself for breakfast at 08:00. The rhythm of life: tea at 6; breakfast at 8; tea at 10.30; gin at 12; lunch at 1; tea at 3.30; whisky at 6 and dinner at 7.
Nanna was born in 1912 and grew up in a world very different from today; a slower paced world, where a holiday trip to Port Alfred took two weeks by ox-wagon and another two weeks to get home. Nanna embraced technology and knew how to use the throttle on her bright yellow sports car, and in her 90’s ditched her trade-mark typewriter and embraced the computer and emails.
Nanna sought to control her world. She had a pioneering and reformist spirit, perhaps a product of her youth, embedded as it was in colonialism and the mines. She took on life and sought to beat the chaos out of it. She was known to intimidate Bishops and was not afraid to confront the Nationalist Government policies in her involvement with the “Black Sash”. In the 40’s and 50’s she involved herself in Sophiatown with the likes of Trevor Huddleston and she built the first crèche in the area (in memory of her mother, Ida). Her generosity extended to paying for the education of a number of black clergy children, and through her involvement in the Ekutuleni Anglican Mission touched and influenced the lives of many.
But in the midst of everything, family took centre stage. She sought to protect, to nurture and to shape. And our memories of her are bound deeply to her love and care for us. She lost her mother, Ida, at 19 and spoke in recent years of the deep sense of loss she had carried throughout her life, missing her more and more as the years passed; and so perhaps we know who met Nanna as she stood at death’s open door. As a young teenager I remember her sitting on the side of my bed in the Blue Room one night, sharing the pain of seeing Pop-pops die, and reminiscing on his importance in her life. Bumpa’s death left her bereft and hopeless, and it took Simon moving in as a young Wits student to eventually bounce her back, with YCS students toyi-toying in the Drawing Room and young, black revolutionaries at the dinner table. James’ advent into Langlea was more genteel, but both gave her reason to live. She was remarkable in adapting to the worldview of a younger generation, and without sacrificing her own principles, was able to be accepting; and meals were often a space for sharing life and a good wine. The big family gatherings were always a source of joy to Nanna, and she loved having her children and grandchildren around: the pool, the swing, the “jungle” are all part of my happy memories of uncles and cousins and aunts and relatives; and the food and the laughter. Her great-grandchildren, too, were a source of joy. I only remember her angry with me once, when Simon and I had used the hot-water bottles as trampolines in our beds, and mine had burst ... requiring the bed to be remade!
Most of all, what stands out for me about Nanna is her faith in God and her commitment to prayer. God was never far from my relationship with her, and she was the source of my earliest awareness of the spiritual world. This seems at odds with her ability to hold life-long grudges and to be almost vitriolic in her condemnation of others, and of those we love. She was not unknown to manipulate us with her wealth; and the disparate manner with which she treated sons and daughters, children and spouses was often a mystery. She wasn’t unaware of this side of herself, but it was part of the chaos of her own humanity that she never managed to beat into submission. This more difficult side of her personality showed mainly when she perceived her children to need protection, or was jealous of the time she lost to those we love, or was just afraid that she may be forgotten; or was challenged in her reformist stride; and in recent years by her loss of influence as age took its toll. Underlined in her copy of THE OBLATE RULE C.S.M.V. IN SOUTH AFRICA are the words, “Despise no one, but honour all whom you meet or serve.”
The strength of her personality that drove her involvement in Sophiatown, and allowed her to face down the church’s discrimination of women in ministry – becoming one of the first women Lay Ministers in the Province in 1974 – had to have its shadow balance. And the shadow was further offset by her generosity to us and others; and the extensive time she gave in her attempts to reform the pastoral ministry of her local parish (I suspect, much to the vexation of a number of Rectors!); in her love for creation as seen in so many of her paintings, her garden that she loved, her cooking and her embroidery – all done to an intimidating level of perfection.
In many ways God was visible in her life, and certainly a centre of strength from which she lived. Typed out by Nanna and pasted in to the front of her A BOOK OF COMMON PRAYER (inscribed as a 1958 Easter gift from ”Bob & Toodie”) is a prayer composed from Milner White’s “My God my Glory”:
In the Field of my soul / There is a treasure hidden. / Thou art there, / Thou my Lord and my God: / More bright than light itself. / Over me like a banner, / Under me, a strong rock, / Around me as a house of defence, / Before me, a beckoning star; / But richest of all, within, / My treasure for ever, / Hidden still yet life of my life to-day, / To-morrow, my open Glory.
Nanna struggled to die, not I think because she was scared of death, but because she was scared of losing life. Burnt into her psyche was a determination to survive; and some of her final words are telling: “I can’t anymore.” It was time to pack for heaven, and she is gone. Ever the graceful lady, she wanted her shoes on to meet Jesus.
Forgive Nanna for the hurts of recent years; they were not always meant. Hold instead a memory of her indomitable spirit, and be encouraged to leave your mark upon our world.
Mark R D Long
A Grandson
Wednesday, 2 June 2010
