Today we went out to Essex for our second funeral of the week. This time it was Auntie Ivy. In terms of strict biology she was not actually my auntie, but on the other hand she was because she was sort of everybody’s auntie, having had 105 years to accumulate honorory nephews and neices.
Despite her remarkable age, I think we were still all a little surprised that she died. At one of her birthday parties she said to me “who would have thought I would get to 104?” and I told her that when we went to her 103rd birthday party we thought there was a fairly good chance. Thats the way statistics work, once she reached 103 she was more likely to reach 104 than I was, and when she reached 104 she was more likely to reach 105, and when she reached 105 there didn’t seem to be any reason why she wouldn’t reach 106.
So why ‘Mystic Ivy’? Nothing supernatural about it. When she started slowing down a bit in the 1990’s Ivy became more reliant on her walking stick, and she was foever calling out “where’s me stick?” and so a nickname was born.
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