Cathy Smiles

Exactly one year to the day I attended the funeral of an old friend's father (see below), I found myself burying my own mother. Time and irony can be so cruel. My greatest counsel, my best friend and a source of so much love, laughter and joy, it's hard to picture this time next year. It was a beautiful, warm, soulful day surrounded by people we loved and people that loved her. Before we laid her to rest, here's what I said:

When my brother Adam and I were little we seemed to exist only to compete against each other. Not physically of course, I wouldn’t have stood a chance - but in every other endeavour, from hobbies to, who knew what, to getting each other in trouble - it was all about point scoring.

Despite my sister Carolyn's best efforts, it usually ended with an inevitable, “Muuuuuum Adam Hit me.”

But of course time and age did it’s mellowing and who was the better one became so much less important as we got older.

So on a long hot Spanish day a few summers ago, the family sat around the balcony and did as we’d always did. Howled with laughter. We’d rib each other mercilessly, gossiped about our friends and enemies and told joke after joke after joke that could never be repeated in a synagogue such as this.

It was then it struck me, Adam and I were still competing as much as we ever did – only now, it was about how much we could make Cathy laugh.

As most of you know, as well as Corrie and Tesco’s, there was nothing Cathy liked more than a good laugh and she had the most infectious laugh. There was no greater mark of her approval than seeing her eyes close, her shoulders hunch and hearing her breathless cackle.

Indeed after she retired some of you knew your sole role in her life was, having obtained a great joke or an hilarious anecdote, you immediately got on the phone and made her laugh. Job done. When I broke the sad news to her old friend Richard Evans yesterday, I think his second sentence was, “dammit I was going to call her next week with a great new Jewish joke I heard.”

If the line was witty enough, no subject was out of bounds, no language too taboo and no victim not fair game. She could also be very naughty. I once sat on a budget flight with her. Having discovered that the egg breakfast was congealed she turned it upside down and waved it over the unsuspecting head of the bald man in the seat in front.

There was no excitement like driving over to Gilbey towers for dinner, knowing you had a new joke and a truly captive audience. When this horrible disease first struck her, my opening words were, ‘The things you’ll do to get your kids to come over?!!!”

“I know” she replied, “I’ll have to think of something new next week.”

Last summer to celebrate my parents 50th wedding anniversary we all trouped off to her favourite place in the world, Kalkan Turkey. It was there that she almost finished US all off with her rendition of the Village People’s “YMCA”

See Cathy had never seen the dance move that went with it. You know, Y>M>C>A and being just slightly dyslexic she couldn’t quite get the letters in the right order. Or even the right letters for that matter. Henceforth, we shall always remember that song as Y>K>B>C>G>7!

Woody Allen once said that Comedy is tragedy plus time. My mum hated Woody Allen.

So I ask you, if you want to honour Cathy Gilbey’s memory today and I mean really honour it. Don’t be sad for too long. Make each other laugh, tell a great joke or anecdote and even rib me for my choice of shirt. But make it witty. Cathy’s watching.

In her final few days, we would still gather together bedside with her and have a good gossip and a giggle. Cathy stole the show of course, when she referred to the nurse as an Oxygen Nazi. Desperate to bring her some comfort it suddenly occurred to me that the other thing she loved, was having her feet tickled. And so I did, with a pen. The way she always liked.

I got then what any child couldn’t have wished more for. I got a smile.

Thank you for listening.

Incidentally do you want to know the joke Richard Evans was going to tell her. A Rabbi was asked, “How’s the recession affecting you?”

“It’s terrible,” he replied, “Women and Men are getting married for love!”