The Queen Mum

Primroses, the Spring may love them, Summer knows but little of them. 

-Wordsworth-

Pam & Peggy Under a Sombrero

Just about everyone remembers the first adult who didn’t treat them like a kid.  For me that adult was Mrs. Pearce, or as I took to addressing her in her later years -- the Queen Mum. 

If I close my eyes, I can see the Pearce’s kitchen in their house in Southampton.   I can see the low wall with bookcases that separated the kitchen from the dining area.  I can also see and remember the day that Mrs. Pearce called me over and kindly offered to lend me “Something that I just might like”.  That something was a paperback by Agatha Christie.  A paperback that I could not have afforded to buy; a paperback that expanded my horizons and made me an intimate of Hercule Poirot and Miss Jane Marple; a paperback that triggered my love of the English mystery novel – a love that endures to this day. 

I was flattered to be singled out by her and trusted with her beloved books.  I always treated her books with great care and made sure to return them in good shape, as soon as I finished them.  And like all children who are treated with respect & kindness, I realized that this gesture by an adult, the mother of my best friend, was a singular honor and not one to be taken lightly.  From that day forward, Mrs. P. continued to loan me books.   As I got older we swapped books.  Later in life I would occasionally pack up an entire carton of books and ship them to Indian Head or Cumberland or North Carolina.  (I believe once, Tony actually shipped a carton on to Florida where she was spending the winter with Gayle and Kim.)

While books were a big part of what she gave me, it certainly wasn’t all.  She welcomed me with open arms (and the occasional glass of sherry…) when I retreated to her house to escape from adolescent woes with my parents.  She listened to me, laughed with me and I believe she loved me – for that I will always be grateful. 

The Pearce household was always my home away from home.  I remember once when Mike and I reviewed a bunch of old 8 mm films he’d taken over the years.  Here were the Pearce’s on Christmas morning, opening their presents and drinking coffee, still in their bathrobes and PJs and suddenly the camera panned right and there was ME!  Me, fully dressed and out and about on Christmas morning, sitting on their couch with the other Pearce kids and the odd grandchild or two.  I said to Mike, “What the heck was I doing at your house on Christmas morning?”  He just looked at me and chuckled, “You were always there,” he said.  And he was right; it was not the least bit odd.  I always felt at home at the Pearce’s.  And, I was always welcome.  That’s just the way it was.

The warmth and caring nature of Mrs. Pearce, our own Queen Mum, is legendary.  She loved her husband Jack, her children, her grandchildren, and her great grandchildren.  She had true and long-time friends from her many years in Bryans Road and maintained a close relationship with her sisters and her entire family “across the Pond” in England.  She will be sorely missed by many. 

She had some rough patches in her last few years; but thankfully she had Mike and Rita to care for her and make her as comfortable and carefree as possible.  Her move to High Grove last summer was to be her last and I will always remember it as the last place -- and time -- I saw her. As always, she greeted my arrival with a big smile and a hug.  “Pam.” she said.  Rita and I sat with her in the dining room at High Grove.  I pulled my chair up to the table next to her and took her hand in mine.  One of the ladies was playing the piano and another rose from her chair to sing.  From time to time she’d look up at me and pat my hand.  I will cherish that memory and all the many, many others I have of my dear friend – The Queen Mum, Mrs. Peggy Primrose Pearce.  

I'm just saying...