Britain & Doris — Erin Davidson

I arrived at Heathrow airport at 9pm on a Saturday night in June. I had exchanged some friendly emails with Sue and Lindsay Clegg, long-time friends of my father’s side of the family (the Davidson’s). My Papa met Sue and Lindsay’s parents while training in Britain with the Canadian Air force during World War II. While we had never met, I was immediately able to identify the couple of 27 years after catching their eyes eagerly searching for me as I walked through the airport arrival doors. They both took turns embracing me and from that moment their warmth and hospitality did not cease.

On the way to the car park, I asked how their drive in was, and they both chuckled. Sue went on to explain that late last night their daughter had gone into labour with her third child. Sue and Lindsay had hopped into the car and drove an hour to their daughter’s home to take care of her first two offspring. They had spent the day with the boys and then came straight to get me from my flight.

The hour-long drive from Heathrow to their home in Petersfield was filled with surprisingly comfortable conversation—they told me stories about my family and my father whom Sue had cared for during the 1970s when she was 21 years old and my father was 14. She had come to help my grandfather out while my Nana had been bed-ridden at the hospital due to a back injury. Sue proceeded to share how included and at-home she had felt during the short four months of her stay with the Davidson family.

Sue and Lindsay welcomed me into their home which they fondly refer to as “Crabtree”, a place they have lived for close to 30 years and during this time has hosted church gatherings, family reunions, weddings, and several members of my family. They gave me a tour of their beautiful family home– filled with family photos, paintings of beloved dogs (past and present), and farm-animal figurines. We drank some wine together and then I went to bed.

*Sue & Lindsay’s kitchen with their two dogs Doogle & Dizzy*

When I woke up, I opened a text message from my mother sharing the news that my Nana, Doris, had passed away. The message did not come as a large surprise. She has battled seemingly all the major illnesses out there for quite some time —Parkinson’s, diabetes, cancer— and for the past 9 weeks she had spent her days in hospice. What I did feel after reading this text message was a sadness— a sadness that I would not be there to support my family and a sadness that I would not be there to honour her life at her funeral.

The respect and admiration I have for her runs deep and the thought of having missed hearing the people that cared about her gather and speak about her life is difficult to digest. With that said, I have found it to be a meaningful coincidence that the date of her passing fell on the first day of my introduction to and visit with her dear friends Sue and Lindsay in England.

My visit to England provided me with an understanding and connection to my Nana that I had not anticipated. She is of course not English, but Scottish, yet had always had a place in her heart for Britain. She loved following the monarchy and spoke fondly of her travels to London. However, the reflection of her that I saw in Britain ran deeper than that

I saw her in the people I met in the small English town of Petersfield—particularly in their warm and sincere desire to deepen relationships. I attended a church service while staying with the Cleggs. I was touched by the genuineness of the people, in their eagerness to get to know me, and to support one another. Wine was also freely poured following the service—I saw my Nana in this too, she loved a good party.

I saw her in the beauty there—both in the countryside and the fashion. The rolling hills, the white picket fences, the colourful doorways, the dresses, the jewelry; it is a seemingly effortless, yet intentional beauty. Into her nineties, she was always the best dressed person in the room. I remember visiting her in the hospice, even her hospital bed was more stylishly decorated than we were— with an on-trend crisp HBC blanket draped carefully over the end of the bed as if straight out of a Hudson’s Bay catalogue.

And finally, I saw her in the British sense of humour – where the amount you are made fun of is directly proportional to how much people care about you. The last time I visited my Nana, I went with my dad and with my Papa. She slept for the entire visit and as we went to leave, my Papa grabbed her hand and waved it energetically back and forth like their hands were a double-dutch skipping rope. She slowly opened her eyes and my Papa met her gaze and said “You’re a lost cause my dear”. They both cracked a smile and chuckled.

While I am sad to have missed my Nana’s funeral, I am grateful to have felt a connection to her through my travels. I have learned a lot from her and I will think of her often— I will think of her positive attitude against health setbacks, I will think of her as the ultimate example of how to receive a gift, and I will think of her when I am the last to finish the food on my plate. I am so proud to have her as role model of how to be a woman and I hope that I live my life with a fraction of the grace, kindness, and grit that she has.