MAUREEN GREEN, ASH, BSI, MBt, The Woman
Remembering Mary Sutherland (BSI: Kitty Winter)
Memories of Maureen Green-Van der Flaes
by Marjorie Morris
My big sister Maureen was the glue that held our family of sisters and brothers together, over many years and through many tragedies.
Even after raising her own two daughters, and sharing her own life with Edwin, she eventually began the care of her elder brother Vincent during the last months of his life. This may have been an overwhelming task, yet none of the rest of her sisters or brothers were aware of the extent of her involvement. Sadly it was only forty days after her brother’s passing that Maureen also passed away. This was the caring, giving life that Maureen led.
Many years ago, Maureen (with polish applied by Edwin) got Sandy and me involved in the Bootmakers of Toronto right from its inception. Later, she got me intrigued with an organization called ASH. Even Sandy benefited from the joy of ASH. During the past few years, I had not been able to keep involved with ASH, yet Maureen still kept me up-to-date of its activities—again, the kind of person my sister personified.
The news that Maureen had died was a terrible shock to us all, both relatives and many friends. But who is to say that she had not seen more, done more, and learned more in her years than many people do in their own lifetimes? To do something well is so worthwhile that to die trying to do it better cannot be overachieving or foolhardy. It would be a waste of life to do nothing with one’s ability, for I feel that life is measured in achievement, not in years alone. This has come to be what my sister Maureen meant to me.
My Maureen Memories
by Marina Stajic
Editors’ note: Marina’s memories of Maureen are also appearing in Canadian Holmes. We are most grateful to Marina for writing and know how difficult it to write about the loss of a dear friend.
WARNING
When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn’t go and doesn’t suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other people’s gardens . . .
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.
©Jenny Joseph, 1961
How many people who knew Maureen Green can read this poem and not think of her? Ever since I read it, many years ago, I have been wondering if it was written with Maureen in mind. To my great surprise, she never heard of it until just a couple of years ago when it happened to come up in one of our marathon conversations.
Maureen epitomized the practice of getting old as described by Ms. Joseph. Granted, her hats of any color always suited her but, after all, she was only practicing. Sadly, we won’t find out if she would have ever become an old woman. Somehow, I feel, she would have just gone on practicing.
If I was to write a book about Maureen, I would consider as a title “A Study in Purple,” “A Study in Red,” “A Study in Shoes,” “A Study in Hats,” but above all, “A Study in Friendship.” Admittedly, I rarely envision Edwin, Maureen’s stalwart companion of many years, in purple or red, but if the title of my book about Maureen was indeed “A Study in Friendship,” Edwin would appear in just about every chapter, while our beloved friend Marlene Aig would feature prominently in the prologue.
Once in a while our friends give us just the perfect gift. Sometimes they don’t even know how valuable it is. I received such a gift from Marlene—my friendship with Maureen and Edwin. Maureen and Edwin used to have their New York home of many years in Queens, with Marlene.
On one of their visits, Marlene had an overflow of guests and she asked me if her Canadian family could stay with me. Maureen and Edwin were no strangers to me, of course. I had known them for many years—they were well establishedin the Sherlockian world by the time I entered the scene—but this visit truly marked the beginning of a beautiful friendship. After we lostMarlene, ten years ago, it only seemed natural for Maureen and Edwin to relocate their New York home to my place and, at the same time, I gained a home in Toronto. My trips to Toronto always meant having fun with Maureen, and our time together was the main reason I looked forward to taking those trips north of the border. October 28, 2006 was the only exception. On that day, I joined Maureen’s family and dozens of her friends for the sad occasion of celebrating her life which ended so abruptly eleven days earlier.
The Sherlockian footprints of Maureen Green, ASH, MBt, The Woman, BSI, can be found all over North America and Europe. The footprints she left throughout all aspects of her life can be best described as those of a gigantic friend.
Maureen and Edwin frequently attended Sherlockian gatherings in New York, including the 2003 ASH Spring Dinner. Maureen told me she had prepared a short presentation for the occasion. The title was “Sherlockian Friendship.” Somehow, her presentation got billed as a toast to Sherlockian Friendship, and it was so well received that it started a new tradition. Ever since Sherlockian Friendship has been an obligatory toast at ASH dinners. How appropriate that a wonderful friend to so many started this lovely tradition!
Any time, in any situation, Maureen’s friends could count on her to be there to listen, lend a helping hand or offer a warm hug. Even at a sad time like this, when one can never find adequate words to describe the magnitude of the loss, I turned to Maureen for help. And, as always, she was there. I could clearly hear her words from “Sherlockian Friendship”:
“The passing of a friend always leaves a gaping hole in your life. Over time, however, that empty space fills with memories—your own and those of others—renewing and reestablishing that missing friend as a part of you forever.”
I encourage Maureen’s friends to read the whole piece, if they haven’t read it before. If they have, I encourage them to read it again—it was published in the Muse, vol 19 no. 4. No names are mentioned, but Maureen’s friends just may recognize themselves among her memories. I remember listening to my friend recounting some of her favorite Sherlockian memories and smiling at having shared so many of them. It is with a heavy heart that I read her article now.
I am very grateful for all the times Maureen, Edwin and I spent creating our memories. Together we climbed the mountains, we sailed the oceans. We laughed ‘til we cried; we cried ‘til we laughed. And we shopped. Maureen and I, that is. Edwin mainly stuck to climbing and sailing. Maureen was a true bloodhound when it came to finding neat shops and great deals and, whenever we found ourselves in a shoe store, we’d turn into a couple of centipedes.
Maureen taught me how to save money. She would always look at the original price of an item, compare it to the sale price and quickly figure out how much money we would save on this deal that just couldn’t be passed up. All the money we “saved” went to the travel fund for our next adventure. The pleasure of shopping wouldn’t be complete without rushing home to tell Edwin how much money we saved and how proud of us he should be. He always was.
Maureen wasn’t only a great friend. As can be expected, she was also a wonderful wife, sister, mother, grandmother, and—for a just a few months—a great grandmother. I am aware of only one instance when Maureen failed as a grandmother. Indirectly, I was responsible. Maureen was never a baseball fan but, great friend that she was, she faithfully accompanied me in my annual pursuit of the Yankees in Toronto and even proclaimed herself a Yankees fan. However, until about a year ago, she didn’t know that her grandson Max was a long-time avid Yankees fan.
Needless to say, Maureen quickly made up for this. (She may have been somewhat motivated by my constant reminders of what a “terrible” grandmother she was.) On her next trip to New York, Maureen got a t-shirt for Max at the Yankees store—she found a great deal, of course! She also bought tickets to four upcoming Yankees games in Toronto. As she explained to me—it was somehow cheaper to buy tickets for four games than for just two. I attended two of the four with Maureen and Max. As it turned out, that was the last weekend I spent with Maureen.
If I could live in a world with no purples, no reds, no shoes, no hats, no bagels, no laughter, no Yankees, I might no longer be constantly reminded of Maureen. Not that I would want to live in such a world. Thanks to Maureen, I have at least three more pair of mauve shoes than I will ever need, at least three large hats that I will never wear (I did “save” a lot of money), and hundreds of precious memories that I will cherish for the rest of my life. Unlike mauve shoes and large hats, I wish I could acquire hundreds more of Maureen memories….But even with the ones I have, she will be a part of me forever.
