Thelma Marcuson Tribute

I feel very honoured to be asked by Alan to talk about Thelma for a couple of minutes on behalf of her stairwell neighbours and I hope I can do justice to this really special lady whom we all loved so much.

I first met Thelma in 1993 when I came to live at no 30 with my partner George and son Harry. Helen and Gerry were getting married, a traditional do in their front room at no 27 and we both took our cameras. George filmed the proceedings and then the guests. In crisp tones this forthright lady’s admonishment came out loud and clear– ‘don’t point that thing at me…well on reflection you can point anything else at me but maybe not when Neal is around’….followed by a throaty chuckle. Here was Thelma, beautifully turned out in red, her lovely thick white hair swept up in an elegant, neat chignon. Within days we were invited into their refined but homely apartment full of a lifetime of carefully selected treasures, paintings, tribal art, wall hangings and most importantly Thelma’s exquisite, matchless ‘pots’.

Over the weeks, months and years we were included in so many family gatherings and met a countless number of interesting and loving friends who came to spend time with ‘Thelma and Louise’ as we affectionately referred to them. Their front door was invariably ajar, an invitation ever ready to pop in for an evening whisky. Both Neil and Thelma were curious about and interested in OUR lives, Thelma an able listener and dispenser of wise advice when one sought counsel. She had that special knack of seeking out what was interesting in a person’s character. They shared their rows with us too, seemingly having most of them within earshot of the thin walled larder that backed onto the rear entrance. We laughed about them together, ‘I’ll tell you what it’s like living with Neil – look how he folds plastic bags,’ she told me as she pointed out rows of neat little cones stacked in the door of their broom cupboard.

But we knew he adored her, his ‘Loulou’, and vice versa. I’ve eaten countless meals at her table and picked up many culinary tips. Ilana and I agree that her meringues are the stuff of legend. There was always a freeflow of good wine, delicious repasts, warmth and laughter. What splendid neighbours, what dear friends, what good luck for us to have chanced this way.

When Neil left us the roles reversed somewhat, and we came to treasure her even more, grandmamma of our stairway. She was the ideal role-model for us middle-aged ladies, a wonderful example of how to age gracefully, keeping abreast of contemporary movies and reading matter and always eager to share local non-malicious gossip. When Ilana lost her own mother, she stepped into the breech as a caring, non judgmental confidante.

When Thelma’s health declined one could only wonder and admire her stoic stance, self mocking at the pickle she would get herself into when she fell, showing off her spectacular cuts and bruises. As her sight diminished, she busied herself with an abundance of tapes of the classics but always kept her finger hovering over the pause button as she liked nothing better than a cosy chat with whoever dropped by, always encouraging the visitor to join her in a whisky. I know from having talked with my neighbours that we are going to miss very much indeed but undoubtedly her spirit will remain in the stairway for many, many years and she will never be forgotten by us, her Brookfield extended family.