On My Mother
Oct. 10th, 2022 08:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
danieldwilliamMy mum, Sally Sutton, died in the early hours of Friday morning.
She was a remarkable woman. In some meaningful way she still is.
She practised and taught medicine in four continents. During the four decades of her career she lead excellent clinical teams, taught, published papers, participated in ground-breaking research and worked to re-establish the rudiments of radiology in war-torn Mozambique. She was I think the first woman to qualify for a Fellowship whilst working part-time, opening up opportunities for woman to advance their professional careers whilst also raising a family.
A life-long socialist she was committed to the common-weal. What was described as her practical socialism defined her. Following her retirement, she spent some time working at the Jungle Camp in Calais. Public service medicine was perhaps the second or third great love of her life.
She loved to travel from an early age. Hitch-hiking around Europe, building fire breaks with ex-Republican fighters in Catalonia, fishing for lobster off the coast of Israel. Long drives around France and Yugoslavia with my father. She roamed Australia, living in three states, two territories and rightly shunning Victoria. After she retired from practice she took up travelling again. Who goes to Kazakhstan? My mum. She made a habit of coming with Milda, and our family on our holidays to Spain. I will never forget the mock seriousness with which she responded to a waitress in Cartagena after she was asked if she was sure about her order of a double cortado, a hot chocolate and some churros, "Oh yes, we have a lot of archaeology to get round today, and it's too early for beer."
She lived longest in Cornwall, a place she called Paradise. No amount of cajoling or reasoned discussion would persuade her to consider for a moment leaving her little cottage overlooking the valley in her village. She loved it here, tending her garden, colour co-ordinated with her home just so, sitting on her terrace, beer in one hand, book in the other watching the sunset over Stithians. Cornwall suited her, the Cornish even more and her home here was perhaps the second or third great love of her life.
She read voraciously. On her bookshelf I found a copy of Rawls' Theory of Justice and Dworkins' Justice for Hedgehogs next to biographies of Sherman and the complete works of Patrick O'Brian and Hilary Mantel. She liked Sherman, Jack Aubrey and Thomas Cromwell. She was less certain about Rawls. After she retired from medicine she was stunned to discover that the rest of the world knew things that were interesting despite not being medics and she studied economics, jurisprudence, history, film theory, architecture, archaeology and almost any other subject that concerned humanity. She loved television too. "Had I," she would ask "watched Breaking Bad?" I had not. I fear the moment has passed.
She was a passionate supporter of Manchester United. She picked her university so she could watch them play. Her most told story was how she saved the life of a United coach and met the entire team one after another as they came in to visit him, being paged each time a new player visited, and arriving each time, running breathless in case the coach had taken ill again. She would hear no word of other sports until she watched the last 25 minutes of Wales vs France on the 18th March 2017, a story steeped in heroism, rank villainy, questionable medical ethics and a subtle understanding of how to bend, not break the rules. She connected with at least one of her grandchildren through a common interest in Man U and rugby and would come with us to Murrayfield and cheer for the opposition.
She was funny, witty, charming, acerbic, generous, wise and clever. Hard working beyond comprehension. She set high standards and simply expected you to meet them. And she loved people in her funny broken way. People in the abstract. People as flawed individuals. So long as they weren’t too close or too often.
I am sure that her greatest love was her children. I remember sitting beside her in the front seat of her car as we drove the endless miles through the Outback and she reached over, squeezed my knee and smiled at me and I felt loved.
I have always felt loved by her.
She was a remarkable woman. In some meaningful way she still is.
She practised and taught medicine in four continents. During the four decades of her career she lead excellent clinical teams, taught, published papers, participated in ground-breaking research and worked to re-establish the rudiments of radiology in war-torn Mozambique. She was I think the first woman to qualify for a Fellowship whilst working part-time, opening up opportunities for woman to advance their professional careers whilst also raising a family.
A life-long socialist she was committed to the common-weal. What was described as her practical socialism defined her. Following her retirement, she spent some time working at the Jungle Camp in Calais. Public service medicine was perhaps the second or third great love of her life.
She loved to travel from an early age. Hitch-hiking around Europe, building fire breaks with ex-Republican fighters in Catalonia, fishing for lobster off the coast of Israel. Long drives around France and Yugoslavia with my father. She roamed Australia, living in three states, two territories and rightly shunning Victoria. After she retired from practice she took up travelling again. Who goes to Kazakhstan? My mum. She made a habit of coming with Milda, and our family on our holidays to Spain. I will never forget the mock seriousness with which she responded to a waitress in Cartagena after she was asked if she was sure about her order of a double cortado, a hot chocolate and some churros, "Oh yes, we have a lot of archaeology to get round today, and it's too early for beer."
She lived longest in Cornwall, a place she called Paradise. No amount of cajoling or reasoned discussion would persuade her to consider for a moment leaving her little cottage overlooking the valley in her village. She loved it here, tending her garden, colour co-ordinated with her home just so, sitting on her terrace, beer in one hand, book in the other watching the sunset over Stithians. Cornwall suited her, the Cornish even more and her home here was perhaps the second or third great love of her life.
She read voraciously. On her bookshelf I found a copy of Rawls' Theory of Justice and Dworkins' Justice for Hedgehogs next to biographies of Sherman and the complete works of Patrick O'Brian and Hilary Mantel. She liked Sherman, Jack Aubrey and Thomas Cromwell. She was less certain about Rawls. After she retired from medicine she was stunned to discover that the rest of the world knew things that were interesting despite not being medics and she studied economics, jurisprudence, history, film theory, architecture, archaeology and almost any other subject that concerned humanity. She loved television too. "Had I," she would ask "watched Breaking Bad?" I had not. I fear the moment has passed.
She was a passionate supporter of Manchester United. She picked her university so she could watch them play. Her most told story was how she saved the life of a United coach and met the entire team one after another as they came in to visit him, being paged each time a new player visited, and arriving each time, running breathless in case the coach had taken ill again. She would hear no word of other sports until she watched the last 25 minutes of Wales vs France on the 18th March 2017, a story steeped in heroism, rank villainy, questionable medical ethics and a subtle understanding of how to bend, not break the rules. She connected with at least one of her grandchildren through a common interest in Man U and rugby and would come with us to Murrayfield and cheer for the opposition.
She was funny, witty, charming, acerbic, generous, wise and clever. Hard working beyond comprehension. She set high standards and simply expected you to meet them. And she loved people in her funny broken way. People in the abstract. People as flawed individuals. So long as they weren’t too close or too often.
I am sure that her greatest love was her children. I remember sitting beside her in the front seat of her car as we drove the endless miles through the Outback and she reached over, squeezed my knee and smiled at me and I felt loved.
I have always felt loved by her.
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Date: 2022-10-13 03:05 pm (UTC)