Audrey near Dublin, Ireland, 1997

November 9, 2008

In Donaghadee, N. Ireland, Audrey's Irish family gathered and we spread the remainder of her ashes on the incoming tide. Some photos here. A short video here

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On the first anniversary of Audrey's passing, September 25th, members of her family were asked to send some remembrances to be shared here. If you are reading this and would like to make a contribution please send a message to Paul Litherland, and I will post it. Paul's email here

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Messages from September, 2008:

From Henry Litherland

Since I met Mum as an intern at the Westminster Children's Hospital in the
Fall of 1957 I have so many memories, usually brought back by photographs so
I will attach just two.

The first one was at the House Staff Christmas party and we had invited
Audrey McDonagh, the Nursing Night Supervisor, and after fighting off the
competition I started dating her.

The second photo was at Tidewater Place and is undated but was in 2002 or
earlier. The tulips are out so it was a warm spring day. I had just come
back, looking slightly rumpled, after a day at the hospital. Mum was holding
her G & T in her right hand and had probably been gardening all day in her
shorts. She appears very happy with the results of her gardening.

Love to All

Dad/Henry

From Janet McDonagh

Dear All

it was so lovely to get round to checking my email this weekend and see the stories about Audrey being shared across the miles...where would we be without email.

Thanks Paul for nudging us to share our memories this week - Audrey always liked a good story. I remember how she helped me get over my dad's death by so many stories that only a sister could tell, when I stayed you all on my medical student elective way back in 1984...like my female cousins, I too remember being treated to shopping trips "for girls" and being truly spoilt. I remember her buying me a seagull mobile on Granville Island during my last weekend with them that summer in 1984 - and it has travelled around England with me for the itnervening 24 years to my many addresses and still hangs in my summerhouse (which has a beach house theme in that I miss the sea living in landlocked Birmingham now!) And I also remember the hats I envied - and particularly the one she wore to Ruth and Tim's wedding - still looking so glamarous and Audrey Hepburn-ish! I too cannot drink G+T's without thinking of her - since it was she who introduced me to their delights, again back in 1984. I only hope I can be such a loved and loving auntie and one day, be as fondly remembered as Audrey will always be in my life and heart.

My love to each one of you, my extended, global family!

janetx

From Susan MacDonald

I have so many fond memories of my Auntie Audrey...
She loved hats and when Dean and I got married in 1983, she must have known it would be a hat wedding, so decided she would outdo the rest of the female guests; I remember Peter commenting that her's doubled as a solar dish.

It seemed that when our families got together, my Dad and Audrey had to compete to see who could consume the most G & T's and still be standing by the end of the evening...3 guesses who the winner always was.

One particular family gathering, my husband to be was meeting the other half of the family for the first time, and during dinner she sat across the table and grilled him on many things and she finally turned to me and said "he'll do" - I was relieved to have her blessing! I also think that was the famous movie night when Audrey decided to gather us around the TV to watch Risky Business. I recall my Dad drinking lots of G & T's that night.

I remember the old station wagon when the family lived in Richmond. She would take us kids all out for a drive just so that we could "catch air" over the railway tracks - someone always bumped their head on the roof, as none of us were in seatbelts - did they have them back then?

Like others have said, Audrey always managed to smooth out the troubles - one weekend when I was quite young, my parents went to England and left us with a blind old bat that cooked yucky food. Henry drove all the way to our house to pick us up to take us to Beverly Cres. for the day. They must have sensed we needed rescuing. I had a terrible ear ache and the old bat wasn't going to let me go. I pretended it was better and off I went. I don't remember what the remedy ended up being, but I just remember being so relieved to see Audrey (and Henry et al.), and all was right again, until we were deposited back in the trusty hands of our babysitter.
There are so many fond memories - thinking of Audrey today and always, with love.
Susan

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From Gillian Williamson:

On and off all day today I've been thinking about Auntie Audrey - so many memories are tied to her voice - it's as clear to me as if she were here in the room - as well as her smile, and of course, her wit. My husband Dave and I still chuckle 24 years later at a comment Audrey made at our wedding. The wedding guests were all gathered for speeches and toasts in the living room of my parents' home in West Vancouver. Dave was giving the usual speech about how far guests had travelled to share the special day with us. In the middle of it, Audrey piped up with, "Oh, it was hell getting here from Shaughnessy!" I can still hear her wonderful Irish accent and see her in her stylish pink dress and broad-brimmed hat that day. I loved that she made up arrangements of flowers from her garden for the church and that she threw rose petals on us as we left the church after the wedding. She was some lady - and some auntie!

love,
Gillian

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From Joy White:

Missing my wonderful, ebullient, crazy sister (and sister-in-law, for Barry) with all her generosity, warmth and extreme joie de vivre. Have spoken to Paul, in Berlin, remembering Audrey, and hope he is able to send this around the world, not being a computer person.... Love and kisses to you all, Joy (and Barry, the transmitter).

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From Liz Litherland:

As most of us do, I remember Audrey and her incredible gardening skills, which weren't actually acquired but seemed to come naturally. They were evident in her very first garden (in Richmond) where she relegated the boys to the back of the property where they could muck around whilst she did her thing in the front. What I have always remembered about the front garden was an incredible perennial bed that was perfectly laid out. She had got it right the first time, where the rest of us spend a lifetime struggling to get it right.

More recently, after watching Paul's video, I was completely blown away with Audrey's skill as a pianist, playing a very difficult, obscure piece, and with fingers that were no longer young! (I,ve oftened wondered what the piece was - I can usually identify most piano pieces). The reason for being blown away was because in the early days our family always associated Audrey sitting at my piano with something young on her lap, fiddling away, giving the impression that that was about all she could do, and telling us that her mother had taught her to play.

Trouble with her cars began early. I remember when they lost a wheel or something from her car when crossing the Burrard Bridge en route to my daughter Susan's christening. Henry was godfather - needless to say they missed the service.

I remember too an outdoor occasion at St. Geoge's School when A. was on the School Board, and sitting with the others, sporting a very impressive tan at a time when it didn't seem possible to get one, and confiding to us afterwards that it came from a bottle.

Quite a character we shall always remember - Liz

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From Dean MacDonald:

My most vivid memory of your mother is one that needs censorship. The first time I met 'the family' was a dinner at Beverly Cres.. Your mother seated me next to her. During our private conversation, we started abusing one another (playfully) and after one particular jibe of mine, your mother said "fuck you" in a voice loud enough to be heard by most at the table. Once things had calmed down, she commented to Susan that I met with her approval. I still miss her.
Dean

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From Cathy White

Arra yes and yes and yes
All such immediate and warm remembrances
from the voice to the shape of her head to the last time I saw her
again fag friendly tho not me at that stage
huddled round the back of the sculptured stones
opposite the Shelbourne delving into what was
and she wore my hat.It is like a pope's hat,rather a daft pope's hat
and in black with big floppy ears.She was a rather more reckless reach
away from mum
and yet there she was with Granny within her too.and Donald
All bits you wish were still all rocking around
I was ALWAYS told I was like my Auntie Audrey

yes yes and yes
all these lovely immediate remembrances

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From Ali White

Audrey was the first member of my family I ever saw wearing a bikini. Swimwear in Ireland was sturdy; often requiring the addition of a cardigan over it, sometimes even a coat. In 1972 it seemed to me that my Aunty Audrey was wearing something made of triangles and strings- something only Bond girls wore- as she hosed down the garden in Beverly Crescent, keeping her cigarette out of the water drops. She looked fantastic.

Then there was the time in mid seventies Belfast, when she took me shopping on a wild rainy day. She was tired of buying boys clothes... All those pants... (She took time to stretch out that "a".) She took me to Anderson and McAuley's department store. There was a clanging old lift with pull across metal doors. All I wanted was a navy blue towelling top with a hood on it, something any of her sons would have been happy to wear. She bought if for me- and a flowery vest to put under it.

There seems to be a bit of a clothes theme here.. So I remember the big hairy boots she wore when she came over for Granny's funeral service- and the way she took a photo of the undertakers, leaning up against their shiny black car. She asked them to pose, and Smile, and they did, happily- their professionally solemn faces taken completely by surprise by this tall elegant funny Canadian.

And then in the Shelbourne hotel one sunny Dublin afternoon, in the gracious front drawing room, having afternoon tea with Cathy and Francis.. Francis was very attached to a push along red and yellow plastic scooter at the time, and was keen to take it for a spin over the velvety carpet, dodging the dainty tea tables and cake stands. Because we were with Audrey, it was fine, and it was fun.

The last time she was in Dublin, she stayed in the Shelbourne again. One evening she and I ended up in the gracious drawing room again, having a G&T after our T. I was in a bit of a fragile state because of work and another messy heartache, and she listened and we talked and she laughed me back to life. I think of her often when I pass there, and at the corner of Dawson Street and Nassau Street, where I waved her goodbye. It always lifts me up to think of her.

And of course, thinking of her today.

XXX A

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From Karen Trask:

I miss Audrey. And what I miss is what we shared the most - our telephone conversations. It is her voice, her ACH Karen and how are you? which wore a welcome path in my brain, and I often hear resonating in my thoughts. One of our conversations remains fresh in my memory. At about this time of year, several years ago, I was very disturbed by a close friend's recent operation and diagnosis of ovarian cancer. Paul was in Mexico and I was feeling quite alone with this new development. Audrey called just when I needed an ear. At one point, she blurted out that well-known Irish expression - don't you be burying her before she's dead, and of course, that was exactly what I needed to be reminded of. You take care were always her last words and they somehow seemed more appropriate than goodbye.
Thinking of Audrey today, and of course a lot of other days
Karen

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From Paul Litherland

25th of September, 2008

Remembering.

The first memory would probably be of riding around under the grocery cart at the Safeway in Richmond, in 1966. You know, where you put the sacks of potatoes. I would have been 4 or 5. Snakes in the blueberry patch behind the house on Blundell. She didn't like snakes. Later, she would find baby snakes in her shoes one morning after they had escaped from our urban zoo, that was not a good start for the day. Then the time that she and dad left me at Athlone School, to start kindergarten, and learning that they weren't going to go with me. I remember screaming and crying, not wanting any of it.  Having a running race in the backyard in Richmond on a summer evening. She would keep mentioning that she was good at track and field.

Driving the white Rambler Station Wagon at high speed over the ditch bridges in Steveston, causing the unseatbelted occupants of the car to achieve momentary zero g status and float around the car while singing "Old MacDonald had a Farm". Subsequently the car lost a wheel while crossing the Granville bridge going downtown. We all got out and got paint on our hands, as the bridge was being painted with grey paint. I got to sit up with the tow truck driver as they towed the car down Seymour Street. We never saw the Rambler again, but it was replaced by a 1967 Dodge Coronet 440, with a huge V8 engine, that gave us more air time as we flew over those same bridges.

She would always tell me to "Go for it". I'm here in Berlin, working as an artist, likely because I'm still going for "it". I don't actually know what "it" is, but when I find it, I'll send you all an e-mail.

In the kitchen at a dinner party in 1975 asking her if she was happy. She broke down and cried. After seeing the film "The Ice Storm" I get the impression a lot of people weren't so happy in the 70s.

Watching her play the piano, being transported by the music; Mendelssohn, Schubert, Elton John, Bach. Not Rimsky-Korsakov.

The memory of mom that sticks out most clearly though, is the look in her eyes as she beat me with Hot Wheels track. You know, that orange ribbon of plastic highway from Mattel. I had been a bad boy. Torturing one or all of my brothers in a serial fashion and taunting her along the way. I was an almost pubescent 12 years old. Definitely testing the ground. The track was the first thing at hand. I had pushed her past the limit. She lost it, and was furious. I was laughing at her anger, and that was it. All I could see was her green eyes, her pupils had disappeared. A flurry of flying orange plastic and I assumed the fetal postion. Then she was ashamed for having lost it. She never forgot, and neither did I. From my perspective, I got what I was asking for, but sometimes it's just better to want something than to have it. She was sure she had hurt me, she kept bringing it up over the years. The pain was mostly hers, though. When I was 32, she gave me a new set of Hot Wheels for my birthday. I still have them.

Speaking of pubescence, another episode springs to mind.

For many parents, Sex Ed is a difficult topic to cover with the kids, and best left to experts, like your kid's friends. Of course, quality control of the information is a little difficult to verify, but at least today we have the internet for excellent information, and examples, on conducting sexual relations. Back in 1973, however, the internet didn't have a name yet, and besides the Playboy at the barber shop, there was little information on women readily available, especially as I was in a boys private school and had no sisters.

I decided to take matters into my own hands, so to speak. I had been surveying the magazine section at the drug store next to Magee Grocery, and besides Playboy, they also carried Penthouse magazine, which is somewhat more graphic than Playboy, and graphic is everything to the 12 year old male imagination. Mom also kept an account at this drug store.

I rode my red 3 speed chopper bicycle with a banana seat all the way from Beverly Crescent to the corner of 49th and West Boulevard one afternoon after school, walked in, went straight to the magazine rack, pulled the Penthouse off the shelf, put it on the counter, told the clerk it was for my mom, and could you charge it to the account please.

No questions asked. I was not about to engage in any eyeball to eyeball contact with the clerk, but it wouldn't surprise me if she doubted my story. She calmly asked if I wanted a bag, a request I had not anticipated, but in the haze of the excitement, decided that yes, a bag was a good idea.

I could not believe my luck. The matter never came up in subsequent conversations. Thank you, Mom, for not making me take it back.

- Paul

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From Simon Litherland

For the last couple of days I have been trying to come up with something witty or funny and I have not been overly successful.

I guess the simple rememberances were of Mom and cars: the brakes on the school bus failing and it coming to a rest by hitting the brown station wagon we used to have. Kris Vogel's Adidas school bag getting caught in the door as she pulled away from the curb and Mom thinking she had run him over as he was banging on the roof, and hearing stories about getting passed by the one of the wheels of the Rambler wagon on the Oak Street bridge as she was driving. But they aren't necessarily about Mom.

She was generally pretty accepting of stuff. Brothers getting pierced ears, her bank account running an overdraft for years at a time, us buying all sorts of candy and sweets at Magee Grocery or Mary's before that. The one time I do recall her getting rattled was when we moved from Beverly to Tidewater and I think she hoped we would do more that we were. Our role of course was to do less than we feared. Somehow all those years of carting wheelbarrow loads of manure from the front yard to the back had earned no credit and there were very few options. So a couple of my brothers and I did the honourable thing and went to see a movie (Indiana Jones perhaps?). Certainly I don't recall any repercussions and I think Mom calmed down after that. Oddly Dad didn't come with us, and I don't think he was able to escape.

One of earliest memories (and it may not be mine originally, but rather learned from Mom's retelling of the story) is being extremely young and playing with the seat back tray of the person in front of me on the way to Ireland back in 1968 or so. I think Mom was secretly pleased with this as the fellow in front was not a pleasant person, but other authorities might be better at the recalling of this one.

I recall the dinner party with the Baked Alaska that became the flambe that generated the fire extinguisher gift shortly thereafter.

I remembering being asked to help wash Mom's hair in the sink at Beverly Crescent (after the kitchen had been redone I think) and being told not to rub her hair in circles because I was twisting it all into knots.

There was a moment, before the term "cougar" became fashionable, when some young bucks following a certain white convertible mustang with a certain blonde in the front seat made that blonde's day, and made it an even better day when they realized it was someone that could have been their Mom.

I believe that it was Mom that counselled a younger brother who shall remain nameless that Dad didn't really need to know that the brand new VCR had just consumed a can of Coca Cola.

And it was Mom who brought home a copy of Risky Business to watch on either Christmas Eve or Christmas Day to show off said VCR to Uncle Oswald's family without passing it by the temperance commission (indeed subsequent to that, it may have been Mom that convinced the BC Film Commission to put rating labels on the back of video tapes).

For some reason, I think Mom was at some point a member of both the NDP and the Socred parties at the same time. I know that she belonged to a union when she worked out at UBC and this was going to be problematic when one of the Vancouver Garden Club meetings was going to be at a site that was notionally behind a union picket line (luckily I think that was settled).

She did like Gin & Tonics. I suspect that Nancy Herberts from the house next door on Beverly might have been the only one to know how much. And playing Liar Dice at Hornby, and working at a café in London where there was a cook that had a fox called "20" that slept on the potatoes.

She did not like camping. There was one particular weekend on a Gulf Island that starts with a "G" I believe, when we had set the tents up to capture the maximum amount of free flowing surface water (never have the door facing uphill) when I woke up at some ungodly hour to find ourselves drenched. I asked Mom if we could go home the next day and she said yes. That's when I knew I loved her.

Simon

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From Stephen McDonagh

My "Audrey" moment doesn't really fit into any of your categories but was the one that came immediately to mind when your email arrived this evening. As your Mum and I were the smokers of the clan (and yes the were now extends to me too, I quit some 12 weeks ago) on her visits to Ireland she and I spend more than a few quiet moments on either the front or back steps of Number 22 Bannvale or more recently Number 10 Greenmount.

It was one of these occasions I am remembering. It was outside #22 and I was "escaping" doing the dishes after one of my mothers "small" lunches. As my sisters Janet and Ruth will tell you I am very good at avoiding doing the dishes! A skill I have honed to perfection over the years. Anyway I slid quietly out the front door and plonked myself on one of the seats rather usefully well below the living room window.

It was a pleasant summer's day by Northern Ireland standards in that it was not raining but it was about to. I was about to light up a smoke when out comes Audrey, complete with postprandial G&T, the ice clinking in the tumbler. We chatted about the flowers in my Mum's garden and the quality of the repast we had just consumed. We were in the midst of sharing a smoke when I was savagely poked in the ribs. "Val is a very nice girl!" she said looking at me very closely through half closed eyes, lips tightly pursed.

I should add for those of you that don't know Val is my better half and at the time we weren't that long married. I didn't quite know what to say, which for me is a novel situation. Was my Aunt surprised that she was a "nice girl"? More worrying for my self esteem was the possibility that she was surprised that I was capable of attracting "nice girls"? Caught in a quandary I replied "Yes she is isn't she?"

We continued to smoke in silence for a long minute as I worried what might come next ...

Another sharp poke in the ribs was followed by "Good For you! Now away and get me a wee splash to freshen this up" She handed me the G&T tumbler and off I went rather more relieved than perhaps I should have been and the moment passed, stored away in the drawer of secret smiles to be remembered some 20 odd years later.

I am sorry I can't join in tomorrow but I have to add that for me tomorrow will contain considerably more memories of smiles, jokes, escaping crabs and pokes in the ribs than it will tears and sadness, which is really the way it should be :-)

{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{HUGS}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}} to you all from all at #14

Steve, Val and Niall

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Eulogies and photos from the funeral here