Last weekend was a moving and memorable experience. My father, my aunts Anne and Mabyn and I finally laid my mother to rest for ever. Mum had left instructions that she should be cremated but had not made any request as to where her ashes should be scattered. Thinking about it after the funeral I realised that there was one perfect location, the source of so many golden memories of happiness for her, the house where she had grown up during the war: Trewin, in Cornwall. One look at my middle names tells you how much she loved that place; not for nothing am I John Crace Trewin Johnston. As Anne pointed out, many sons have their father's name but I have my grandfather's name and address!


Mum at Trewin c. 1935. Granny wrote on the back of the photo
"It is so fun, sailing boats and all that!"

The first step was to contact the current owners, the Foster family. Incredibly they were the family that bought the house when my grandfather's lease expired in 1945. We have had occasional contact with them over the years so they were well aware of the family connection. They could not have been more welcoming or accomodating once we had explained the plan and I owe them an enormous debt of gratitude for making this wish come true.

After consultation with my aunts, mum's elder sister Mabyn and younger sister Anne (who was born at Trewin), we hatched a plan to all come down together this last weekend. Mabyn's son Richard Ellis now lives nearby so we were able to rendezvous at his house in Millbrook on Saturday morning for him to drive us over.

It was a bright Cornish morning with occasional clouds hurrying through and leaving a mostly blue sky as we arrived at Trewin. The house lies up a hill away from the road, along an avenue of copper beech trees planted in 1905. I had been there once before, I think, as a very young child so I didn't remember anything. But on first seeing the house I could understand immediately just what an idyllic childhood my mother must have enjoyed there. It seemed to me to be one of those solid country houses that appear in Jane Austen novels. Not the home of a Mr Darcy but perhaps a Lizzie Bennet.


This tree was planted by my grandfather in 1935

On arrival we knocked on to the door and were introduced to Nicholas Foster, the current owner, who like Anne was born at Trewin. He was so welcoming and showed us the gate in the garden that they had just replaced. On it was an inscription which sums up the generosity of spirit and sense of common history that the Fosters possess:




Anne and Mabyn and the Crace Gate

Mr Foster then let us be for the scattering of the ashes. Mabyn suggested a bank at the top of the beech tree avenue. It was a beautiful spot, with the first snowdrops appearing, two wonderful oak trees and a huge rhododendron at the rear. It seemed a very fitting location so it was here that we began. From there I went around and scattered some more around the big trees and the large flower beds. It was very moving and I cried more than once. There may have been a few tears of sadness because right then I did feel her absence and how much I love her and miss her. But mostly they were tears of something like joy. I think it was the joy you feel when you know something is so right and so perfect. Above all it was knowing that I was able to offer her this last small service after everything that she had done for me. Trewin, and Cornwall, had always been an enormous part of her life; now she is part of Cornwall and part of Trewin for ever.



We took our time, listening to Anne and Mabyn's reminiscences, and slowly returned to the house where the Fosters had invited us for lunch. Mabyn explained that the beautiful Eucalyptus tree had been planted by her father as part of the war effort, "to feed the Koala bears at London zoo" they were told! She was, however, confused as it wasn't in the place she remembered but Mr Foster explained that the original had come down so they had planted a new one in a new location.



We were eight for lunch, Nicholas and his wife Jennifer, his brother John and their mother, the venerable Mrs Foster, wife of the late K.G.Foster who had bought the house in 1945. She could remember my grandparents living there and all the Fosters were very keen to hear the tales of Trewin and local life that Anne and Mabyn could recall. It's clear that they have an enormous affection for Trewin and I got the feeling that they knew it was more important than any of us. Families come and go and somehow this wonderful house endures. We left with firm instructions to return and call on them again and I firmly intend to do so.

In fact that wasn't the end of things. My father had not been able to make the long journey to Cornwall so I saved some of the ashes and came back to Oxford. On Sunday we went out into the garden that he and mum created together and we quietly spread the rest of the ashes in amongst the flowerbeds. I think it meant a lot to him to put his beloved wife to rest and I was very happy that we were able to have that moment together.