This is the text of Viv's Eulogy
Mark: Thank you all for being here today.
Viv, my sister. One of my earliest memories is looking over her cot when she came home from hospital. As siblings, we weren’t always the best of friends—there were squabbles, of course—but there were also moments when we enjoyed each others’ company, moments about which we recently reminisced together.
She wasn’t particularly fond of school, but she had a thirst for knowledge that came alive later in life. I remember how much she loved reading, particularly Great Expectations, which she read over and over.
Viv had an extraordinary capacity for empathy. After our Nanny Ashley passed away, she spent time with Grandad, who was a difficult man to get to know. It wasn’t a grand gesture, but it was typical of Viv—showing up for others, even when it wasn’t easy. She watched a lifetime of Westerns with him!
As we grew older, Viv and I saw less of each other, but I remember when she called to tell me she was gay. She was nervous, but I knew it didn’t change a thing for me. It was part of her desire to live truthfully, especially with Rae by her side.
Viv’s later life was defined by her passion for education and quiet resilience. When she became Dr. Vivienne Ashley, it reflected the drive she’d always had. She was proud of her accomplishments, but it was her kindness and wicked sense of humour that left the biggest impact on me.
When Viv told me about her diagnosis, she did it with the same resilience. She wasn’t resigned; she was honest, clear-eyed, and positive. That’s just how she lived: fully engaged with life, regardless of what it threw at her, and always caring for those around her.
And her deep care meant she was an incredible aunt to Tom and Ellen. Her love for them was unwavering, and I know they’ll carry her memory forward, just as we all will.
Viv, I’ll miss you. Your quiet strength, your thoughtfulness, and your unending kindness. I’m grateful for every moment we shared. Goodbye, Viv.
Lee:
Thank you, Mark, for your touching account of Viv from childhood to the remarkable woman she became.
It’s an honour to be here today, as her friend, bringing Viv to life with words. The problem is, words cannot manifest the contradictory, glorious, wonderful, and hilarious woman she was. However, in remembering her, I hope we can all recognise the traits that connected us to her, and how they live on in us. These traits are compassion and love, determination, thirst for learning, independence and autonomy, living life well.
The first of her traits: compassion and love. Mark spoke about her care for her grandfather, and in preparing this eulogy, I’ve heard many stories of how Viv made people feel seen, and completely at ease. This was my experience too, meeting her in the kitchen of her home, at a party, where I hardly knew anyone, way back before smartphones and wrinkles existed. I suddenly belonged. She had a gift for putting everyone at ease, at work, at home, and most especially at play.
And her ethical life, her politics, and her commitment to social justice came from this deep-rooted compassion. She saw everyone as fully realised humans.
The strength of her love was most evident in her relationship with Rachel. They made room for each other’s differences, and in doing so, their love grew even stronger. And this remained true, or perhaps nearly so, even when Rachel’s jam-making left every surface in the kitchen sticky and the entire house filled with the acrid stench of vinegar from her chutney-making.
The second trait, Viv’s determination, particularly at fighting unfairness. Early in her favourite novel, Great Expectations, Pip says “In the little world in which children have their existence, there is nothing so finely perceived and so finely felt as injustice”. Viv carried this with her throughout her life. At Shelter, she took on unscrupulous landlords and under-resourced housing departments, ready for the fight. She didn’t always win, but she never stopped challenging the system.
Sometimes, her determination appeared in other guises— such as what became known as the ‘strategic slurp’ on a straw during meetings to interrupt nonsense and punctuate management speak, or thrashing her colleague and close friend Graham at squash when she was supposedly teaching him.
Her determination didn’t stop at work. It carried over into her academic research and even her diagnosis. She benefited other cancer patients through her expert patient evidence to the NICE panel and her contributions to the campaign group Breast Cancer now. This led to previously limited drugs becoming accessible to other patients facing incurable cancer.
Viv’s determination was sometimes driven by anger at social injustice. However, this anger was always transformed into positive action. Viv’s niece Ellen sums this up perfectly with a specific adverb: “Fiercely intelligent, fiercely witty, fiercely honest, but most of all, fiercely loving.” Viv never seemed fierce, but she lived life with fierce commitment.
Third, Viv’s thirst for learning. From a young age, she was an autodidact. At pub quizzes, she was the only one who could answer the classical music questions. It’s rare for a teenager to love Richard Strauss’ Der Rosenkavalier. Viv did. And, perhaps surprisingly, she was also a self-taught expert on the Royal Family, with teenage subscriptions to Majesty and Young Royals magazines.
Her love of learning never stopped, and that passion continued through her PhD and beyond, into gardening, baking, American politics, twentieth century history, and on. Once upon a time I used to share seed growing techniques with Viv; in later years she was the one providing me with the seedlings.
And of course, her academic work. In her 30s and 40s, she completed an undergraduate degree (a First), a master’s (with distinction), and a PhD that required no revisions—remarkable achievements, especially when you consider the end of this unfolded alongside her life-changing diagnosis. Viv was, without a doubt, an authentic intellectual.
Fourth, Viv’s independence and need for autonomy were central to who she was. Whether walking the Pennine Way with Graham, painting, or exploring the Highlands in their camper van with Rae, she valued her freedom. I like to imagine them both waking up by the sea, the wind blowing a hoolie, with Nina Simone singing: “Scent of the pine / you know how I feel / Oh, freedom is mine / And I know how I feel.”
Her cancer diagnosis, without a doubt, brought out her autonomy and agency in its fullest form. Viv put it best in an interview: “There were two ways to approach the diagnosis: waiting to die or living with it. I wanted to live with cancer. I still wanted to do all the things I had planned.”
Viv was transformed by her cancer, but it never defined her. She would want me, rightly, to thank Ruth, who few here know, a person who helped Viv in untold ways to inhabit her life fully and positively.
There’s one memory I have that encapsulates this spirit of independence Viv had. In the spring of 2016, Viv, Rachel, Matthew, and I were on holiday by the River Dart in Devon. While our partners went kayaking, Viv and I decided to walk along the muddy riverbank. We made good progress at first, but soon found ourselves in thick grey sludge that made further progress nearly impossible. Then we noticed the tide coming in fast, and with it the realisation we might soon be cut off. I felt utterly irresponsible, as I was meant to be in the role of carer. Viv, on the other hand, was completely thrilled by the sense of danger—the rush of feeling truly alive. Her laughter almost impeded our escape, doubled over to the knees. Of course, we made it back safely, muddy and exhausted, and sworn to secrecy.
Sorry, Rae.
And we land at the final trait - living life well. Viv’s nephew Tom is fortunate to have this memory: “They threw a fete for lots of friends and family, and I remember there were games for the kids while the adults danced in the tents.” The fete at Chilvers was Rachel and Viv together at their best. Tom’s description—almost evoking a sense of Bacchanalian abandon—captures its essence.
Viv lived life well in big events but more often in the quotidian. In her last weeks, she made every interaction matter, even when exhausted and in extraordinary pain. With dark humour, she broke the weight of any sombre moment, and the intensity of her eyes made you feel like you were the only person in the room.
She faced the end of life with immeasurable dignity, and with the same compassion she showed throughout her too few years with us.
Living life well for Viv also meant holding onto childlike wonder. Her deep silliness, her scatological humour, and the voices she performed as her cats and their imaginary friends are part of her irrepressible spirit. This reached its unsurpassed pinnacle of silliness in the song composed and produced (thanks Pete) in tribute to her cuddly toy whale, Blubble.
Each new dawn, and each new day, there she was, her arms wrapped tight around the wonder of life.
Compassion and love. Fierce determination. An unrelenting thirst for learning. Independence and autonomy. Living life well.
I urge you to hold on to Viv through these traits. In that connection, we keep her alive.
And for me, I will always hold onto that wonderful laugh. That was, and is, and will forever remain, joy for me.
Viv, hyperintelligent friend, loving partner, brave realist, champion bread baker, bird-loving rambler, game-winning mastermind, intense reader, quiet Christian, filthy laugher, emotionally open empath, erudite scholar, natural diplomat, bloody-minded do-gooder, intense life liver, Platonic idealist: you are irreplaceable.
We are all less without you.
We are all more because we knew you.
Thank you.
Rachel- written and delivered by Mark and Lee
8th December 2024
