Texts for Translation 2009:
  Theresa Oakley-Smith

Eulogy for Margaret Walsh: 1928 -2006

Margaret Walsh, nee Margaret Langan McGillvray was born on February 6 1928, in Gourock on the River Clyde in Scotland. She was the youngest of a family of five who sadly never knew her father. He died while her mother was carrying her, as a result of mustard gassing in the Great War. The family was very poor as were many people living in Scotland between the wars. Her mother worked as a cleaner and in an attempt to do her best for her youngest child sent her to live with relatives, first in Chiswick outside London and then in the Raglan Isles off the Coast of Northern Ireland. Our mother was very unhappy away from her family however and returned to Gourock to complete her primary and grammar schooling.

She was denied the chance of any further education by the outbreak of the Second World War and joined up at the tender age of seventeen. She was a member of the Woman’s Air Force, a WAAF, and worked as a telephonist. In spite of the grim circumstances Gourock was not a bad place to be. A large American forces camp was based close by and the RAF was also working in the area.

Those of you, who knew my mother will know that she was tiny, 4’10’ in nylon stockings, size 2 feet weighing very little. The story goes that she met my father, Norman Walsh because he had to lift her up to get into the WAAF transport gharry. One thing obviously led to another, he swept her off her feet literally and metaphorically and they married at 18 and she continued to be in love with him her entire life. They had a large family and in fact by the age of 25 my mother had already had five children.

Life with my father was never dull and within a few short years the “wee girl frae Gourock” began to travel the world. She sailed out to Singapore aboard the Empire Windrush in 1952, looking after 4 small children all under 4 en route. In Singapore she travelled with my father to the then, Malaya and enjoyed the full colonial life style with all of the receptions, parties and happy times.

They returned to England for a brief period in 1955. Our mother as you know was very sociable and built up a strong bond of friendship with many services friends. She was in touch with some of them still, up to the time she died and we have received many touching cards and letters from friends from the first Singapore days! The family, by then grown to five children, returned again to England at the end of 1955 before embarking on a posting to Malta, a small island in the Mediterranean in 1957. This was a very happy time for my parents and indeed for us as a family.

Our parents entertained a great deal and enjoyed the life style that their frequent travels offered. In 1958 they returned again to England and it was at this stage that my father joined the diplomatic corps. He was dispatched to Paris to live with a Russian family and learn the language before he and my mother embarked on what was an extraordinary time for them, living in Moscow, working for the British Embassy during the Cold War. It was the time of Kruschev and Yuri Gagarin, the first man in space.

It was a massive feat of organisation for our mother. No food or drink could be purchased in Moscow at that time and therefore everything had to be ordered bought and transported with them to Moscow. Her small size presented something of a challenge in the wardrobe department. No fur coats off the rack for her, her coats and hats had to be made to measure as had her fur boats, size 2.She was as ever more than up to the task and she and my father quickly entered the social whirl of the lives of diplomats with grace and enthusiasm

In many ways our mother was the consummate diplomat’s wife. Always gracious and charming with everyone she rapidly built up a circle of friends from all over the world, again many have stayed in touch with her. Moscow was not however all about parties although there were many. My mother bore the brunt of anxiety, never quite sure where he was or when he would return from his many trips around the Soviet Union.

In later years with diplomacy well behind us she regaled us with stories of life in the Sherimitchova flat and the constantly complaining maid, Vera; of the driver, Dmitri who was, according to my mother a “wide boy”. It was he who would light a fire under the old Land Rover to get the diesel warmed up on those cold Russian winter mornings. She described the endless round of coffee mornings, cocktail parties; drinks do’s and balls, with imagination and humour. She told us of how she would be asked to pass notes to officials from other embassies while dancing for example the “Gay Gordon’s”, a note tucked discreetly into her glove.

They were forced to leave Moscow suddenly during 1964 when they were arrested by the KGB in Riga. My mother, separated from my father spent two days being interrogated before she and father flew back to the safety of England. WE still have the photographs of their farewell do on the Moscow Station surrounded by a diverse throng of diplomats and their wives, my father jaunty in a fur hat and my mother smiling up at him.

A further trip to Singapore completed my mother’s time as a serviceman/ diplomats wife. During this period she became a grandmother for the first time at the young age of 39.

In their retirement my parents moved to the Dordogne in South West France and my mother became a familiar figure darting around the country lanes on her moped. She learned some basic French which she spoke with her trademark Scottish accent, incomprehensible to many. She loved the simple life that the Dordogne offered then and in spite of her linguistic problems made many friends and continued to “entertain”. The contented life came alas to a sad end as her beloved husband Norman contracted cancer and my mother became carer and nurse. Always there for him to lift his spirits, and at the end to simply hold his hand as he wasted away in Perigieux hospital.

She nursed him with exemplorary courage and fortitude and was by his side when he died in 1993. This was not easy in a strange country where language and customs are very different.

She returned to England with Benedict and began her life in Cheadle where she lived for twelve years, the longest period she had ever lived in a much traveled life. She was very happy here in Cheadle, accepted as she was by the community and known for her independence of mind and as she would say “a person in her own right”. Within a short period her Boxing Day parties became the stuff of legend in the small town.

She continued to travel visiting her daughters in Malaysia and South Africa and taking holidays in Europe with her other children. She was always a delightful guest entering into whatever was going on with enthusiasm and often to the chagrin of her children gaining great popularity among their friends.

No stranger to hardship she bore the untimely death of her adopted son Benedict with great courage as she has dealt with the other inevitable difficulties and hardships that having a large family can throw up.

So who was Margaret Walsh, she was the woman who loved people but never lost her own sense of independence? She would think nothing of moving the furniture around at two in the morning if the mood took her. She had an unmistakable sense of style, always well manicured and carefully coiffured, leaving behind a wardrobe of clothes fit to be fought over by her daughters, though we may have to search for a home for the size two shoes.

She had a marvelous sense of humour and was well able to hold her own despite the forcefulness of all of her five children. Her diplomatic training and her innate sense of fair play stood her in good stead for the rough and tumble of life, whether it was in Moscow, Singapore the Dordogne or rural England.

She had a simple and deep faith which sustained her throughout the ups and downs of life and helped her to die peacefully when the time came.

She loved and was loved deeply by all her children, grandchildren and great grandchildren. She was indeed an unforgettable character.

Theresa Oakley-Smith

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