There was a large turnout for Reca McGibbon's funeral on Friday July 27th and afterwards for the wake at Elizabeth House. Wendy Craig gave a moving eulogy to Reca which is published here in full......

  

There has never been anyone quite like Reca McGibbon and there never will be again?  She was, in today’s parlance, a “complete one off”.

A lady of such individuality, courage and originality that she is already the stuff of legend in Cookham, and will be for generations to come.

 

She was so talented, it seemed she could turn her hand to anything.  She was brilliant at wood carving and clay modelling.  She was an artist, a teacher, a gardener, calligrapher, chocolatier, writer, cook, counsellor and friend to name but a few of her gifts.

 

This diminutive lady born in the East End of London in considerable hardship, seized life by the throat and took every opportunity open to her to live a rich, fulfilled artistic and emotional life.  She did complain to me that she couldn’t sing, but that didn’t prevent her from warbling away cheerfully, if tunelessly, as she pottered about in the kitchen, and of course she loved music, particularly opera although she wasn’t averse to pop.

 

I understand Boy George and Culture Club were among her favourites and she held the superb Marie Collier, with whom she was friendly, in very high esteem.

 

Did you know that Reca was also an accomplished haircutter.  She often used to cut her own hair and it was always a mystery to me how she managed to cut the back into a perfect and professional Eton Crop. “A mirror in front and a mirror behind me dear” was her explanation.

 

She baked well too.  Until a month before her death, freshly baked jam tarts regularly appeared when I called in for tea, and her apple strudels were world beating.  But the jewel in her crown as regards culinary excellence was her chicken soup or as she called it Jewish penicillin.  Whenever I was feeling off colour she always presented me with chicken soup.  “That’ll put you right”, she’d say, and it always did. 

 

Because of her frugal upbringing and living through the war, Reca never wasted a thing.  Every piece of string, jam jar, old magazine, toilet roll holder, used foil, wire coat hanger, you name it, was put to good use and recycled.  Windfalls were chopped and frozen, stale bread was made into bread crumbs and taken down to the day centre.  “These will make a nice crumble for the members’ lunch” she’d say to Liz Dye.

To crown it all not to be out done by the age of technology she learnt to use a computer in her late eighties and wrote all her letters on the word processor.

 

She had an amazing way with animals too.  She was patient but firm with them.  My dogs, both English setters, adored her.  She dog sat and house sat for me many times for she was a person who always helped her friends in a practical way, giving generously of her time and energy. She told me she loved to be of use to people.

 

How grateful I am dear Reca for the hours you spent hearing my lines and making sure I was word perfect.  For the practice Fairy Wand you constructed out of a garden cane with a silver foil star when I was rehearsing pantomime, for repairing my broken china, painting pretty boxes at Christmas and filling them with your own hand made chocolates and all the time you spent buoying me up whenever I was anxious, grieving, or unsure.  What will all your friends do without your wise counsel and advice, without your long experience of life on which you drew to guide and comfort us.

 

Reca never found fault, was never judgmental. She accepted us for what we were, warts and all, and that’s what drew so many people to her in friendship because we knew her to be loyal trustworthy and wise.  That’s not to say she was mealy-mouthed – certainly not.  She could be outspoken and forthright when she felt it was necessary. She was particularly direct about politics and religion, and also about gardening.  Many’s the time she lectured me on what I had planted, or what I needed to do, when I had thought the garden was looking brilliant.

Which reminds me I shall always cherish the sweet scented pink rose she gave me with tiny buds like new born babies.  She gave it me as a small cutting and now its a fine bush which flowers all summer long.  Everything she planted flourished.

 

Yes, we all have our memories of Reca, her interest in the village and its arts, societies and politics, the exquisite repair work she did for our monuments and churches, the handmade gifts she gave us, her help, her kindness, her zest for life, her humours, her enjoyment of Scrabble, Countdown, Crosswords, Big Brother!!!

 

For many of us life will not be the same without her, and Cookham will never be the same without that small determined figure buzzing around the lanes in her mini, or as in latter days stomping down to the shops with her shopping trolley.

 

The last words she spoke to me were “break a leg darling”, which in actor’s speech means Good Luck.  

 

Dearest Reca, wherever you are, break a leg darling….