|Mum with great-grandchild Pippa in July 2015|
|Mum and Dad at their wedding in 1955|
Ever since the early 1930s, when as a child in ringlets she stood on the stage of the Thebarton Town Hall reciting poetry and winning prizes for elocution, Mum has loved poetry.
Lucid and with a wonderful memory right to the end, Mum took solace in reciting and listening to poetry.
In her final weeks Mum particularly found comfort in George Gordon Byron's "So we'll go no more a roving."
So, we'll go no more a roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving,
And the moon be still as bright.
For the sword outwears its sheath,
And the soul wears out the breast,
And the heart must pause to breathe,
And love itself have rest.
Though the night was made for loving,
And the day returns too soon,
Yet we'll go no more a roving
By the light of the moon.
Olive Jean "Babe" Winter, forever in our hearts.