Yesterday was Mum's funeral. It was a profoundly sad, emotional and moving event but also a healing experience and a day that I will never forget. It was a wonderful service.

I had been a bit scared the night before. I think I was scared at the thought of just how painful it was going to be and just how intense would be the emotions I was going to feel. In the end it was sad and devastating but ultimately comforting as well. I think that had a lot to do with the nature of the service, which was really marvellous. Mum's request was that she wanted to be cremated, but rather than go to the crematorium after the service we decided that the committal should be performed at the west door of the church. This was the moment I had been dreading, that final, ultimate separation that would take mum away from us all for ever. I must say tears streamed down my face as they carried the coffin out of the door and out of sight. "Goodbye mum. Goodbye mum" I mouthed to myself because no actual words would come out. My ma's cousin Nick Champain took the service and he performed the final Blessing. The organist then played the Bach Toccata and Fugue in D Minor. It was powerfull stuff and I hugged Dad in his wheelchair. We embraced , sobbing, for a while, but then it was over. Refreshments were served in the north aisle of the church. This was what was so marvellous because we were all together. Suddenly all the sadness was replaced by the real joy of seeing so many family and friends. We had given Mum a great send off, the church was packed, we sang loudly and our Amens echoed to the rafters; now we were all together, united by the common love we all had for her. My cousin John and his wife Pam had arrived that morning from Halifax, Nova Scotia to be there. Friends of mine had come from London and Liverpool and Wiltshire to be there to support me as well as family from all over the country. There was no time to mope or be miserable nor was there any need. I felt purged of my sadness by the profundity of the service and buoyed up by all the love we received afterwards. It was wonderful as well to hear, because I couldn't see her, the girlish noises of my 19 month old god-daughter Stella Gold occcasionally waft through the church proving that amidst all this thought of death, life still goes on.

Mum had given careful thought to her funeral. She had chosen three favourite hymns and two excellent readings. She had particularly wanted me to read a section of a sermon by John Donne given in St. Paul's Cathedral on Christmas Day 1624. It's marvellous:

If some King of the earth have so large an extent of Dominion, in North, and South as that he hath Winter and Summer together in his Dominions, so large an extent East and West, as that he hath day and night together in his Dominions, much more hath God mercy and judgement together : He brought light out of darknesse, not out of a lesser light ; he can bring thy Summer out of Winter, though thou have no Spring ; though in the wayes of fortune, or understanding , or conscience, thou have been benighted till now, wintred and frozen, clouded and eclipsed, damped and benumbed, smothered and stupefied till now, now God comes to thee, not as in the dawning of the day, not as in the bud of the spring, but as the sun at noon to illustrate all shadows, as the sheaves in harvest, to fill all penuries, all occasions invite his mercies, and all times are his seasons.

The other reading was from the first letter of St John. This was read beautifully by my aunt Anne who has been such a tower of strength while mum was sick. When I first went to look it up I was quite overcome. It just seemed so typical of mum, that she should choose words of inspiration and simplicity. It seemed like a final bit of advice to us all for when she was no longer there to show the way. It starts "Dear friends, let us love one another, because love is from God". I could hear her saying it!

We decided not to have an address or eulogy. Instead dad wrote a prayer giving thanks for the many facets of mum's life. It was beautiful and actually gave me a lot of strength in the week before the funeral.

Oh loving heavenly Father, as we take leave of all that can die of thy servant Elizabeth Johnston, we offer our humble and hearty thanks for her life and all her gifts.

We thank you for her faithfulness to your word in her daily bible readings and the serenity and the lovingkindness with which they informed her daily life.

We thank you for her wonderful gift of friendship, which embraced in equal warmth all she knew.

We thank you for her gifts as a greatly loved teacher and headmistress in South Africa and for the wisdom, encouragement and guidance she gave to so many young lives.

We thank you for the warmth and kindness of her hospitality as a diplomatic hostess in Malaysia and Canada and the many friendships that blossomed therefrom.

We thank you for the strength and courage with which she bore a wasting disease for which there was no cure or treatment, with acceptance and without a word of complaint.

We thank you for her perfect humility, which never sought to outshine or impress those she was with or take advantage of position or post.

We thank you for her lively and intelligent sense of humour and the gaiety that so often surrounded it.

Loved by all who knew her as wife, mother, sister and friend, receive her we pray with Glory in the company of your saints. We ask this in the name of our Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ. AMEN.

I've been thinking about that phrase "all that can die". The more I thought about it the more I realised that so much of what made mum so special can never die, not while we who knew her are still alive.

On the back cover of the order of service I had a suggested a little quotation from Shakespeare.

How far that little candle throws his beams!
So shines a good deed in a naughty world

Mum was like a million little candles and she will never cease to be my inspiration.