Back to Audrey Litherland memorial page

From Meg Clyne, October 3rd, 2007

Henry has given me three minutes. You must all know that you cannot do Audrey in three minutes, but I promise not to keep you for more than half an hour.

Everybody loved Audrey, well, almost everybody, but before I get into some of her more sterling qualities, I would just like to express one small criticism. There was one time of year when I just wasn’t sure whether I really liked Audrey, and that was during the first sunny days of Spring. Any Spring. That is because after just one measly day of sunshine, Audrey would have acquired the most beautiful tan and therefore did not have to wear stockings to social events.  (In those days, women wore skirts. Bare white winter legs were a problem.) But athat wasn’t really Audrey’s fault. She didn’t do it to bug us, and everything else I have to say about her is reasonably good. I first met Audrey while our respective children – sons – were inmates at St. George’s school. It was not long before I realized that Audrey was a worker. I also quickly found out that when it came to work parties, the emphasis was definitely on the “party” part.

A fine example of this is her sheer dedication, at the Annual St. George’s Fair, to the Jewellery Booth. She convened this booth for years, and one of the more inconvenient rooms because of all the sinks and taps and Bunsen burners and other fancy equipment which really got in the way. Well, it didn’t take long to figure out that the science lab was the only room with a sink in which Audrey could keep her white wine etc. nicely chilled. She never had trouble finding helpers for her booth, and friends and other conveners visited the room whenever possible, thereby upping her sales.

Audrey was extremely generous when it came to fund-raising at school functions. She would bid on auction items that she didn’t really want, just to raise the price, and then she would be stuck with them. Once such item was a brace of ducks., stuffed she presumed, and ready for the oven. But either she had not been listening, or she had not bothered to read the fine print, because when the ducks were produced, they turned out to be 2 beautiful, snow white, very much alive birds.

She took them home anyway, her boys would not let her have them butchered, and, as Victoria and Albert, they spent several happy years under the porch at Beverly Crescent, where a pond had to be excavated to accommodate them. They later graduated to the swimming pool.

Audrey was more fortunate on another occasion when as President of the St. George’s Auxiliary, she was given the honour of selecting from the barrel the winning raffle ticket, which was a trip for two to Hawaii. Now she may well have bought several books of tickets, because that was easier than flogging them to her friends, who were all stuck with their own books, or sending her children out to make nuisances of themselves around the neighbourhood, but she did in fact pull out one of her own tickets. Any protests and cries of “FOUL” – and there were many- were over-ruled. Audrey and Henry took yet another trip to Hawaii.

When it came to dinner parties, Audrey excelled, both as guest and as hostess. At Christmas time at Dorina and Gerry Palmer’s house, when the carol ships passed by, Audrey’s piano playing for our own carol singalong would be legendary, wrong notes increasing as the level of tipple in her glass decreased. But who cared – we all thought we sounded wonderful, (actually I’m not sure what Henry thought), but we could never have done it without Audrey. As hostess,, she was also legendary, but to tell you the truth she was also a bit of a pain. This, I regret to say, is another one of those negative bits. She had a habit of inviting you to dinner and then, before you’d recovered from that, or had even time to think of returning the hospitality, she’d be on the phone inviting you to dinner again. As a result, she was on all of our guilt lists. When we protested that it was all too much, she’d reply “Och!! But you must come!!! It’s the only way I can get Henry off the computer!!”

One last party anecdote. Two years ago, when Audrey was really beginning to feel somewhat unwell, she was invited to a party to celebrate the 200th anniversary of the battle of Trafalgar. And horror of horrors, it was to be Fancy Dress. Come as Lord Nelson, come as a cabin boy, but come as something. Not feeling particularly jolly, but not wanting to miss the party, Audrey turned up dressed entirely in black, long flowing gown, her face almost invisible under a long black veil, When asked who she was, she replied, “Och, I’m Lord Nelson’s grief-stricken mother.” (Nelson, you may recall, died at Trafalgar. Whether he even HAD a mother at the time was of no concern whatsoever to Audrey.

We can’t let Audrey go without mentioning her gardening expertise. Most of you probably know her amazing knack of turning tan ordinary garden into a jungle paradise. She crammed more plants into each square foot horizontally and vertically than you would ever think possible. Every so often she would dig them up and give bits away to friends, or to plant sales such as Van Dusen. The only person who hated Audrey’s garden and had the nerve to complain about it, was the man who came to read the meter. He either couldn’t find it, or if he knew where it was, he couldn’t get to it. As a result, thanks to the meter man, I am now the proud owner of one of Audrey’s very special rhododendrons.

When they moved to Balsam Street a few years ago, Audrey wrought her last horticultural miracle. Her generic Kerrisdale balcony became extremely ungeneric. Anyone looking for the Litherland apartment didn’t need an address – you simply drove around until you found the Hanging Gardens of Balsam Street, and then you knew you were there.

Henry will have his work cut out maintaining this little gem, and you can be sure that Audrey will be watching with a very critical eye. Henry, plastic ivy is NOT an option.

Only once, as far as is known, did Audrey indicate that she was horticulturally challenged. This was at the Apple fest at the UBC Botanical Gardens. Audrey didn’t know anything about apples, but why should that stop her from volunteering? When a large, somewhat intimidating biker type turned up in a fringed leather jacket and lots of studs and tattoos and a nose ring, he asked her where the “whips” were. Now you may not know, and neither did I, and neither did Audrey, that “whips” are the young newly-grafted apple trees. So Audrey looked at this biker apparition, and, as only Audrey could, said, “Och, I think you’ve come to the wrong place....”

Well, Audrey has now gone to the right place, and we think that heaven has suddenly become more fun. We shall always remember her with fondness and laughs and love, and we shall never cease to wonder how that small, thin body could hold such a great big enormous heart of gold. She touched us all. Audrey we shall miss you. Save us all a place.