Rose's Wake

Networks and webs

We all know we’re at the centre of a network composed of family, friends, acquaintances and the broader community but it’s often at a wedding or funeral that we realize that our network is part of a complex web of networks. The memorial tea held recently for Rosemary Metcalf who died at the age of 71 on 5 March this year was a good illustration.

The venue was the terrace outside the tea room at the Botanical Gardens in Pietermaritzburg. The day was hot and sunny but the tables, chairs and umbrellas were in the shade of the eucalyptus and plane trees and there was a breeze. Water and cool drinks were available and the speeches were followed by finger foods. Everyone seemed to know someone else. Some of us were surprised to find that there were friends there whom we hadn’t known were Rosemary’s friends as well.

If she didn’t actually plan this celebration herself, Rosemary would have been thrilled because it wasn’t about death but life. She would probably even have been amused by the honking of the Egyptian goose that provided serious competition to all the speakers. (Some people believe that she was there in spirit and that I should speak of her possible feelings in the present tense.) Apart from Doug and her children and their families, other members of her family were there, as well as the friends she had made through her many activities over the years. In fact there weren’t nearly enough chairs for all the people who came to celebrate the life of Rosemary.

Doug spoke about how she would have wanted us to remember that life goes on. Her brother reminded us of all her interests and achievements and spoke of their life on the mission station where they grew up and where she learnt her impeccable Zulu; a friend who had known her as a small child added to his account. Another who had been with her from their first days as boarders at St Anne’s spoke for all those who had formed part of a network that Rose had helped hold together for around 60 years; a founder member of the hiking club Rose was a part of spoke of her contribution and a fellow cyclist described some of their long Saturday morning rides – for example, to Balgowan - and how they had helped each other deal with the cancer over which they both triumphed. Her son Pete told us that he had told his children (who could not be at the tea) that Grandma Rose would have wanted them to respond to her death by living their lives to the full. Other friends spoke or read extracts of poetry.

We all learnt more about the friend of whom we all knew something but no-one could know everything. And we could share our favourite memories of Rose. One person remembered her ‘erotic nightware’, the boxer shorts printed with San hunters with erect penises that she so insouciantly slept in on hiking trips and how she was up for any physical challenge and would have immediately replied “Ooh, YES!” to any suggestion, for example, “Let’s drive a dog sled to the South Pole”. A personal favourite was hearing how she told her dentist how many overseas trips she could make with the money he didn’t persuade her to spend on two implants.

Rosemary was a person who lived and loved. Having woven a network that was as unique as one of her hand-knitted woollen jerseys, she looked after every part of it. Just as she never seemed to throw a garment away – especially not her trophy t-shirts – she cared for and maintained her network, looking after the welfare of its members in ways that have surprised some of us. When my infant grandson went to Paris to have surgery for an aneurism in his brain, Rose rode a bicycle race for him and gave him her medal. She also prayed for his healing and involved others in contributing to his healing. Even those who had died were not forgotten: the memory of Linda Moodie with whom she worked in the University Library was commemorated in the orchids slipped from one of Linda’s that Rosemary gave to mutual friends and acquaintances.

Just as we all had a unique place in Rose’s network, so she has her own place in all our lives. She lives on in them and no-one will ever be able to quantify or assess her impact on our lives or by extension, on those people with whom we interact. She was at the centre of a network. At her memorial tea we could see how our own networks intersected with her’s in often surprising ways and how all of our networks unite to form a dense web of relationships.

While I’m not necessarily convinced that Rose is still playing a direct role in our lives, she still plays a role in mine. Her memory and example remain but won’t make up for the loss of the living person.

A Friend of Rose