First of all, I’d like to thank everyone here for coming today to remember my Mother, Janice Murphy.
Some of you know her from her work as a carer, some as neighbors and some have probably known her so long that you can no longer remember where from.

As you may know, mum grew up in Queens Crescent before moving to the Brecknock area of London where she spent most of her youth.

She attended secondary school in Archway, although, I say "attended", she didn’t necessarily spend much time in class. Sometimes she couldn't be found at all. She would turn up to school, register her name and then seemingly vanish. She wasn't in class, she wasn't anywhere in the school grounds nor was she at home, so where was she? She would be found at the local nursing home, chatting to and helping to care for the elderly! As she got older, things continued that way.

By the age of 23 she was married, just had Wendy and moved into Estelle Road, a flat that she called home for almost forty years.
She quickly made many friends and acquaintances, some of them are here today, others could not attend and many more are no longer with us.

I came along 12 years after Wendy. We both experienced frequent embarrassment when walking with her. It would often take us an hour to do what should have been a ten minute walk because she seemingly knew everyone.

She would shout your name at the top of her voice, then point to me or Wendy - depending on who she had at the time - "my son" or daughter. At the time we were young and thought the whole thing an ordeal; it is only later we can see this for what it really is: a testament to how proud she was of her children. Wendy told me that even once in Ireland, only the second time she had ever been, they were walking down the street in Cork when suddenly out of nowhere,  "MAVIS! MY DAUGHTER!" Everywhere she went, our mum could seemingly find a friend.

For as long as I remember she was a community carer, visiting the elderly and disabled in their homes to look after, cook and clean for them, a role she had really begun in childhood. I remember once she told me at some point the rules had changed and she was no longer allowed to cook for them, but  that was never going to stop her..

After I moved out, it took me a few years to persuade her that she needed to leave the flat, so full of memories, that she had loved for so long. Her health was declining and that wasn't helped by the condition of the property, she wasn't really able to get out to shout people's names anymore so eventually, we moved her to Chalk Farm. It was very important to all of us that she was in community where she had always been and that was to remain the case.

Even with her health as it was, she couldn’t seem to stop caring for others. I remember almost arguing with her about one of the residents in the sheltered housing scheme she moved into as they used to be one of her clients in her job. Despite the fact it was no longer her job and crippling arthritis, more often than not she would be looking after this person, going to the shops and pottering about for them even if it took an hour to get there and back.

She was happy in Chalk Farm, she made new friends and due to the locality, was still able to shout happily at people if we ever dared go out with her.

When I had my son Daniel three years ago, I used to take him to visit her on the weekends. By this time, Mum had become practically housebound and I remember once Daniel started eating around a year old, she began to insist that she had a stock of Wotsits.
I didn't think about it and fulfilled my obligation of keeping her stocked with Wotsits. Sometimes if she knew we were coming she would call me the night before almost in a panic that she had no or a limited supply of wotsits.

For a couple of years this routine continued, but as you know her health declined further and she could no longer live independently. So that she could see Daniel more often, she moved into a nursing home in St Albans. This was a huge moment for Mum. This would be the first time in 67 years she had not lived in Camden and be the first time in her life she was the one receiving care, not giving, but after a month or so, she had already made new friends, she told me she liked it there and her old friends from London and further afield would frequently make the journey to visit her, something for which I am, and believe she would be as well, eternally grateful.

She would still insist on the wotsits though. A few months ago I noticed that she always had the same amount of wotsits as I had left her with. I was a bit confused but didn't really think about it, just accepted that she was a bit odd, which I'm sure some of her closer friends will attest to, but now it's as clear as day.

The years of demanding wotsits for her were absolute rubbish. They were never for her, in retrospect it sounds so obvious that they were for Daniel all along!

I'm certain that a lot if not all of you in this room have experienced her caring loving nature, even if the way she did things didn’t always make sense, her heart was always in the right place. She loved everyone and always looked out for them.
I think, if I can take you all back to the very beginning, what she did in school probably sums her right up. It may not have been something that made sense to everyone, and I’m sure as parents most of us would not approve, but she didn't care that she might get in trouble with school, she didn't care what her parents may have said or her friends, all she really cared about was caring. Her life may not always have been easy, but no matter what, our mum always tried so incredibly hard and always cared for others.

So as we say our goodbyes to our Mum, I would like to just share what I believe to be her message. It's a simple message that she religiously followed. It does not matter where you are from or where you are going, who you are or what you are:

Just
Be
Nice

Our Mum was a nice person. She cared and she loved and when all is said and done, and our time on earth is no more, isn't that all that really matters?