#3015, Julie Ann WILSON

Eulogy given by her son, Phillip at her funeral on 20th September 2023.

Where to start? Mum is in some ways a paradoxical figure and in others, beguilingly simple. Presented to Her Majesty The Queen in 1958 as one of the final debutantes, yet much more at home in well-worn corduroy trousers. There were no airs and graces with her –she was consistently interested in everyone that she met. Having lived in Mourne for sixty years, she still sounded as Englishas the day she had arrived, relished Earl Grey tea in front of the AGA, sometimes with a Siamese cat curled around her shoulders; and considered a kebab to be an exotic food option.

  Mum married a Mourne man, which meant leaving her family in England to make a new life here. Her’s is a love story –in so many senses.You may have seen the early photographs of Mum and Dad on, or near, a boat, in those first months when they first met. I can quite understand the attraction that Dad felt on meeting this beautiful English lady who had the character to match his own unique persona. The story is told that Mum had grounded her trimaran on the beach outside Peele on the Isle of Man. Dad was there with a boat of his own, having crossed the Irish Sea from Dundrum. Mum was working as a bar-maid whilst keeping an eye on her father Jim Wilson’s mining interests –which meant a large Rolls Royce was on hand to run her around the island. Dad was skippering a small boat over rough seas –the grandson of an Earl yet kitted out in threadbare jumpers and happiest when toiling salty long hours at sea with his crew. When Mum asked for helpto re-float her trimaran, Dad put down his drink and paid attention. Within a week they were engaged. They were as strong willed as each other, wonderfully so.

They travelled West on Dad’s boat into Kilkeel harbour. It had all happened so quickly that Mum was totally unprepared. Perhaps nothing could have prepared her for what was to follow. Dad brought her straight to Mourne Park and presented her to Granny, that is Norah, Lady Kilmorey –probably on the terrace. It was the mid 60s. Lord Kilmorey –a towering figure and a father figure for Dad,was no longer living, and Dad’s mother, Lady Eleanor had just passed away at a young age. Dad had been brought up in Mourne Park: an idyllic childhood, mingled with boarding school. Mum therefore was arriving into the heart of her man at the very moment he most needed her. Granny took to Mum right away –they had a natural bond and Mum was instantly fascinated... but this is not the moment for me to launch into Tales of Mourne Park –I am actually writing a book about that! However it is not possible to set the scene, and the continuing context, without pointing out what a huge part of Mourne Park, Mum was.

The estate was in danger of being a declining enterprise without her energy. She poured her heart into the house, the family, the land and the history –in ways that we are still uncovering today. Norah lived into her 90s –a grand matriarch with a formidable intelligence. Mum became her carer and confidant. Dad had created a smaller family home in the Stables, just across the yard from the main house. Their home was a proto-version of what Mum and Dad came to establish in the Main House. When Granny passed away there began a new era for the house. Mum embraced the long history that goes with Mourne Park and set to, understanding just where her husband came from. From Dad’s point of view there was much to find out too. His young bride had been educated at Westonbirt, an all girls school in Wiltshire and had lost her only sister Jane to childhood illness. He visited Cheshire many times with Mum –helping her father with shipping quarried materials and in so doing, gaining the name “Skip”.  As a boy my Dad was close to Sally and Sammy Wilson –known to many of you here. They were like grandparents to him –and subsequently to me too. When he proudly brought Mum in to meet them they were delighted and enquired what her family name was –apparently Dad threw back his head and laughed: Wilson! Sally and Sammy took Mum firmly under their wing. Our family grew. Sometimes I sing at home. My children scold me and usually I stop. Mum sang in Mourne Park. Her joyous voice would echo through the hallways. There was an irrepressible lightness to Mum that would pierce any darkness.

What she wanted was to help others. From teaching in St Louis for 27 years to leading disabled riders around on horses for her beloved Mourne Grange–the same horses that she was terrified of –and supporting the RNLI come rain or shine, she sought ways to make a difference in other people’s lives. When, in later years, Mum couldn’t stand for long,she brought along a chair to the street so that she couldcontinue to collect. Mum became a Justice of the Peace and a Deputy Lieutenant for County Down. We would like to thank the Lord Lieutenant for being here today. These roles and responsibilities were borne by Mum out of a strong sense of duty. She didn’t seek accolades or elevation. Where Mum saw a need for change, she would raise a challenge –regardless of the institution or established order. She has been called quietly subversive! She was set on her aims, would go the extra mile for anybody, and sought always to change lives for the better.  In the book of Micah there is a verse that Mum directed me to many years ago. It reads:  And what does the LORD require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God. Sometimes the teachings of church wash over us, losing their resonance. What Mum inspired was a life that sought to follow the teachings of Jesus. Her example –that level of consistency and straightness –is a hard act to follow! Mum was honest almost to a fault; generous in ways that put her in danger of being taken advantage of; selfless verging on disregarding her own needs.God’s love for all of us has been called “reckless” and in Mum we saw what that could really look like. Her faith, held securely from childhood and drawn on when she faced many difficult challenges –is how she managed to come before Him with joyful songs.I was blessed to be with Mum when she passed away last Wednesday. I can tell you that it was utterly peaceful. Bonnie and I mused yesterday that only when Mum could be sure that her life’s work was achieved and that there was nothing left to give, only then did she pass away.We have received many messages of comfort, all of them cherished–thank you –what becomes clear is how many people felt inspired by Mum.  She was fiercely independent. As the only mining engineer in the Western World when she graduated from an all-male class of The Royal School of Mines, Imperial College in 1963: Mum was an early pioneer. That she became a teacher for nearly thirty years in this community is how she unearthed value for others more than would ever have been possible as a geologist. Generations of children were shown a love of Science, of sailing and, bravely, of Technology.

The stories to be shared are too numerous to cover adequately in the little time that I have available today. For example, during Mum’s potholing days: when she was stopped by the police in the middle of the night driving a large ex-military lorry within which her potholing companions were soundly asleep. “What have you got in the back? They asked, “Oh, bodies” she replied!  She always drove us forward. Bonnie, Marion, and I experienced what it was to have Mum’s laser focus on us: how could we be true to who we really are; how could she nurture our friendships; did we understand just how loved we were? When our father Nicholas passed away in 1992 aged just 48 it was a cataclysmic blow. Their love was as profound as it was particular to them. I was at school; Marion was at university in Edinburgh; and Bonnie was working in London. To the credit of both my sisters they came home and between us we coped. Mum had the option at that moment to return to England where her dear brother Nick and family were living. She chose to remain. Mourne was truly her home.  Sally and Sammy continued to care for her and ultimately, she for them. She felt at home in this church –with consistent endeavours such as her cross-community prayer group, and the writing of hymns and prayers. Mum was always working for peace.  Mum knew that Dad’s legacy to us all was almost incomprehensibly large. She felt our pain, more keenly than I can share here. Mum continued to pour out her love and to shelter us as best she could. In return we did what we could to find her a life afresh.  Looking at us now from the actual Kingdom of Heaven –a place that she sought all her days to see manifest down here, Mum would delight to see her children and grandchildren and all who she knew, living their lives with confidence, excitement,and open hearts. This was never going to be an easy eulogy to make, yet what a joy to acknowledge Mum here. I thank God that I am her son and I ask only that you remember Mum smiling, interested,and involved. Thanks be to God.

Richard Needham's book, Battling for Peace, tells us that Julie's sister, Marie Wilson was murdered by the IRA in the massacre at the cenotaph in Enniskillen on 8th November 1987.