Her funeral was heartbreaking. People crowded in and it had to stand three deep at the back of the chapel. My son Rupert and I held each other tightly and wept buckets. She lay in her pretty fairyland woven wicker coffin, (environmentally friendly, of course) dressed, so Kate told us later, in her DJ - the same one she got married in - with her trusty leather hat in one hand and a carved stone goddess she bought in Avebury in the other.

The gentleman officiating gave a cracking speech about Bec, and I was particularly comforted by his words about Bec's love of the stones and of history and the natural world. On the cover of the order of service was a beautiful self-portrait photo Bec had taken at - I think - Wayland's Smithy. (Though an argument flared in the pub afterwards as to whether it was actually West Kennett LB.)

Then they played The Lark Ascending, which she had chosen, and I remembered all those summer evenings we spent at White Horse Hill, eating chips, drinking tea out of a flask and watching the birds rise into the sky. And I wept some more.

I hope her contributions to this website will remain to amuse, delight, inform and be her legacy.
J
xxx