EULOGY FROM PER-ERIC Liv loved lilacs. And mauves. And forget-me-not blues. All sorts of pastels, and wild-berry colours. Liv was always fiercely Norwegian. But also proud to be an honorary Yorkshire-woman. Liv loved her family. And all her friends. In the last decade of her life Liv also had increasing dementia. And towards the very end, it robbed her of much of her essence – but never all of it. Some say that dementia is the longest goodbye. But I’m not going to dwell on that. Except to say two things: First, even as Liv lost the power to make sentences, the ability to understand the difference between a son, a brother or a husband, the difference between day and night; or winter and summer, she was still my mother, Liv, deep inside: – her lovely smile; her hugs; her slightly mischievous humour; her delight at Norwegian brunost on Ryvita; or even – dare I say it – a once-a-week Silk Cut cigarette! Liv loved all the care-staff at Autumn Lodge: they were kind and loving. And she loved Kay at her previous home in Saxon Court. She smiled her lovely smile at them, and was happy. And yet, towards the end, she often told me she wanted to go and live with her mother again. That might be because of the regular visions she had, in those last years, of her mother, Mimi, visiting her from the Other Side, talking to her, and reassuring her. Or it might just be her mistaking Clarissa for her mother. We’ll never know. Anyhow, I would just urge you – for Liv’s sake – to donate to the Alzheimer’s Society to help them with their work on this website. What is left of Liv now? Her soul, yes. The Norwegian Vikings believed what survives after death - apart from the soul you might occasionally glimpse in a dream - are reputation; memories; and the wisdom that person passed on. I think they were right. Liv touched the lives of many people. Liv wasn’t a tub-thumper, or a preacher. She was a quiet, gentle influencer. We’re different because of the example we got from Liv’s unassuming actions. And our fond memories of her. She was a lovely, lovely woman. Speaking personally, I realise much of my own attitude on how to live life, comes from what Liv passed on to me. Take Liv’s love of cooking and food. She cooked Norwegian: - poached salmon with dill; fresh prawns with mayonnaise; roast belly of pork with crackling and caraway-seed-surkaal. And she cooked English: - roast beef with a separate starter-course of Yorkshire pudding; steak and kidney pie; Grandma Hawthorne’s recipe for ginger cake. And she loved it when her husband, John, cooked Chinese: - even the radishes marinaded in soy sauce! Way back in the Sixties, when it was virtually impossible to get original ingredients, she made Hungarian goulashes. And Russian stroganoffs. From these food experiences, I’m sure I learned to be adventurous, and try anything once, however unfamiliar, including: – pickled herrings, mussels, and mouldy cheese. Not just with food, though, but with all experiences in life. And to expect there was never only one correct, “English” way to do anything, whatever it was. I also suspect it may have led to a certain stroppiness in at least one of her sons, simply not caring about what everyone else judges appropriate: “We’ll do it our way, thank-you very much!” Liv could also be adventurous with travel. When she was only sixteen, she cycled with a friend all the way from Marseille to Copenhagen. Apparently, they ran out of money in Holland and lived off bananas for the last stretches. In her late 70s, she travelled, with her best friend, Tove, on the post-boat, the length of the Norwegian coast to the North Cape - to see the Midnight Sun. Liv taught us to be adventurous, to explore new, unfamiliar places, not to pre-plan everything, and stress in advance, but to trust in our abilities to react calmly to the moment. Liv was quietly, privately religious. But she distrusted the High-Church-Anglicans who apparently rejected her Lutheran faith as not good enough to pass their muster. So she was very drawn to the Quakerism of the school my father taught at. That was about: accepting difference; being non-judgemental; being contemplative; thinking before acting; being patient, waiting for the appropriate moment. Liv loved flowers: in gardens and in the countryside. She knew the name of every flower. And every tree or wild berry or mushroom. And more than that – what made them grow well or badly; where was the best place to find them. Liv also loved walking in hills – particularly in Oslo’s Nordmarka, but also on the Yorkshire Moors, Wolds, and Dales. And, in her last few years, the Sussex Downs. Again it was all about the regenerative power of being physically active. In the open air. Close to nature. Liv loved the seashore too. What eventually persuaded her to move to Brighton was having a flat with a balcony where she could sit with a coffee and look out to sea. And at people learning to kite-surf on the lagoon. I think she was genuinely disappointed to realise she would never be able to try out kite-surfing herself. How could it be more difficult than ski-jumping? Liv loved Norway with a fierceness and a passion that few of us here can really understand. Partly, it came of being a citizen of a young, small country, liberated from occupation in her own lifetime. Liv’s Norwegian patriotism was very different from the jingoism and political overtones that sometimes come in a big country with an erstwhile empire. Instead it was a quiet, celebratory, personal love of: family; friends; community; cultural characteristics; and unique landscapes. And as we’ve heard, that included Norwegian music, whether folk songs or Grieg. Liv loved doing simple, every-day, convivial things with friends – meeting for coffee, picnicking on top of a hill, with tea from a thermos and gjet-ost sandwiches out of tupperware. She loved meeting her sister-in-law, Pat in the spa-town of Harrogate – what they both called “Half-way”. It was what the Norwegians call “Selskap” – “Company”. Or “Hygge” – “Cosy-Friendliness”. There’s so much all of us remember about Liv. Even if it’s just her mischievous grin as she stole all the crackling, like a child, at Christmas dinner a year or two ago. We can all smile and be comforted by our memories. But I don’t want to pretend that this isn’t also a sad, sad time. We will all miss Liv so very, very much.