Doris L. Atkins

PRE-DECEASED BY HER HUSBAND WILLIAM J ATKINS SURIVIVED BY: DAUGHTER MAXINE J SUTCLIFFE STEP-GRANDAUGHTERS, GAIL ELLIS AND LYNNE MAGUIRE STEP-GREAT GRANCHILDREN SAMUEL, LUKE AND ISAAC ELLIS AND RYAN, LAUREN AND ELLEN MAGUIRE, GOD-DAUGHTER CHRISTINE COUSINS BERYL, BETTY AND JUNE NIECES JANICE, BARBARA, SANDRA AND NEPHEWS TERRY, DEREK AND GRAHAM What an amazing woman and what a privilege to be her daughter! My Mother was 6 years old when her father, who had been serving in the military in India, returned home – a stranger – who was perceived as an obstacle by him as he tried to re-establish a life with her mother. This situation would remain, until they bonded more than 70 years later, when, realizing he was having a heart attack, she took all the right actions that he later claimed as “my daughter saving my life”. Although sending all his paycheck to support the family during his military service, he came back to the recession and unemployment – he later admitted to me that on occasions he stole bread. Money was very tight and her mother sought work in a factory for 12 hours a day – meaning she had to remove her wedding ring and lie about her status - work was only available for men or single women!. My Mother was thus a lonely, only, child and sought love and comfort with her maternal Grandmother. She also provided very spirited defiance to her maternal Grandfather who had Victorian discipline, cruelty and dominance with his entire family. Nowadays, we might say he was probably identifying with his granddaughter, but she managed to enter the only “soft spot” he had when she was about 10 years old – although “soft spot” only meant no brutality to her and when she stood in front of her Grandmother to protect her. At 14, several things happened almost simultaneously – her beloved Grandmother died and she was forced by tradition to viewing her in the casket – it marked her for life. She developed a severe bone infection and, without antibiotics, “blood poisoning” was a major threat. Her life was saved by multiple surgeries over several months during which she was unable to attend school. Later in life I was known to say my Mother later was a “Cat with Nine Lives”. About this time her mother decided she needed to work and chose men’s tailoring for her apprenticeship. The concept was, and still is, that if you can make a man’s suit from scratch as a bespoke tailor, you can make anything. My mother travelled from the poorer side of London, daily by metro (underground) to the West End of London (near Oxford Street/Piccadilly Circus, London W1) the heart of the tailoring, furrier and fashion industry. Although she disliked making men’s suits, she worked her apprenticeship and I remember her making suits at home when I was a child and for my father later in Iife. But she did find her passion and “Fashion was her Passion”. The fashion houses would have private viewings of their fashion to the wealthy and my Mother – being young and pretty - was asked if she would like to model the younger style clothes. She was over the moon and so proud! Unfortunately, after several times, her mother found out and considered modeling only one step up from prostitution and brought a quick end to this adventure. Later, when I was a teenager, my Mother tried to get me to model – I guess trying to fulfill her dream. But I was a shy girl and not at all “showy” and hated the whole thing so it never took off. At 16, she met my father, also 16. He was walking in the park on Sunday afternoon with his friends and she was walking with her friends. As she passed, he lit up a cigarette. She leaned over and blew out his match before he could light the cigarette, he lit another match and she did the same thing again. No accident of the wind! He always claimed later she “picked him up”. She in turn claimed she actually was trying to get the attention of his friend - but my father was having none of that! My father had gained a scholarship to a well-known private school at age 13, so although also from a working class family, he had developed a more cultured way of speaking, was being well educated and he was persistent in his interest in my mother. His politeness and courtesy finally won over her parents, although they said the relationship would never last. I think my parents proved them wrong with 68 years of a very happy, loving marriage. Her parents were rigid and she was not permitted to marry until she was 21. However, from the day my parents first met, my Father announced to her his plans to go to Africa, and she immediately agreed to follow him wherever he wanted to go. Brave words in 1936! With the onset of World War II , my father was removed from College and assigned government work with Optical Instrument production and an ambulance driver during non-working hours so he covered the bombing and Blitz of London. My mother was assigned to make parachutes and tents for the military. Three weeks prior to their wedding, the Church they were marrying was bombed and they had to leave London and seek a Church in the countryside about 20 miles away. My Mother’s favorite flower was Lily of the Valley – a spring flower and their wedding was in June - so they were out of season, but somehow the florist procured these flowers for her bouquet. Theirs was a long and wonderful union lasting 68 years. Fast forward to June 1961, their 50th wedding anniversary, we took a trip to the Church where they married. Initially we couldn’t find it and only the remnants remained. We found low lying ruins that included the aisle and alter stone. My parents sat on the alter stone so I could take a photograph and as she cast her eyes down my Mother saw masses of Lily of the Valley growing wild at her feet. Yes, one of those “Wow” moments. My parents only wanted one child – a girl – and I was born 6 years later, although later my Mother confessed she sometimes wondered what it would have been like to have other children. A few years later she lost the choice as she developed ovarian cancer. Even today, at age 36 this is frequently a terminal diagnosis but she survived with surgery and radiation and became Confirmed after this life threatening event. Their dream of Africa took off after more than 20 years when my father became the accountant at a British Mining Company in 1957. Their trip to Africa (a series of propeller planes for two days from London to Freetown, a 4-seater aircraft and overland 4 wheel drive) took them 400 miles into the bush (jungle) from the capital city of Freetown, Sierra Leone, West Africa. My parents joined 10 other English employees and several hundred local villagers who mined the chrome. At that time most of the African population spoke English - a result of missionaries and the terrible history of the English slave trade. Although English was the main language, the African version is considerably different and called “Pigeon English”. Eventually the English Governor, William Willberforce, abolished the trade and under a landmark oak tree performed the official Declaration to Abolish Slave Trading and renamed the city Freetown. My Mother loved Africa – she spent most of her time studying the behavior of monkeys that surrounded their housing complex – but also cultivated a vegetable and fruit garden. They were to stay for almost two years but my Mother went into a third life after an accident in the jungle. During transportation uphill on the back of a motorbike between houses set in the hillside, they skidded on the gravel road and catapulted their friend Tom who was driving and my mother 200 feet down the hillside into dense jungle. Bouncing off trees and bushes and losing consciousness my mother miraculously stopped close to a large boulder by the river bed. Rescue came to both, but not for many hours later - a hand-by-hand chain of people formed stretch down the hillside and a massive search. Medical help was a 150 mile trip by 4-wheel drive to the nearest missionary hospital – the “examination table” was the bare earth with no equipment and little medication, but at least with a doctor and nurse present. Long stints in the Middle East followed, mainly Libya – Tripoli and Benghazi where my father owned an accountancy firm – but foreigners found life difficult after the Quadaffi revolution and they relocated to Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. A time of adventure in the desert, trips to the Far East such as Hong Kong and Bangkok and my mother abandoning sewing and learning to become a personal Secretary. My parents were very social and amongst many friends met Victor, later to be introduced to their daughter, that led to a 32 years happy marriage, and my parents acquiring two step granddaughters Gail and Lynne (and ultimately also 6 step great-grandchildren). These were fun times. After they retired, my parents bought a coastal home 30 miles from Athens, Greece overlooking the Aegean sea and spent long, happy summers. A vacation in Florida in 1985, led to a fortuitous discovery – OTOW – and their fixtures as snowbirds from 1986. Initially, they were poolside, beach, sunbathing and getting social at the Clubhouse. Both of my parents absolutely loved living on OTOW and never wanted to leave. OTOW opened her up to the stage – she joined the Jesters and Theater Workshop in the late 80’s and remainder a member, most often an active member, for the rest of her life. She even attended both Show performances in 2016 just prior to her 96th birthday. Many of her friends are as a direct result of her being part of these community activities. She had never really been on stage before – just a couple of local social club events – she found a new passion. Performing since 1991 in the Jesters and then Theatre Workshop shows – her forte was “lipsincing” (that in England is called miming) some famous names like Shirley Bassy, Ruby McIntre and of course Liza Minelli. My father became President of the Jesters and my mother Show Director for the Jesters in 1997 and 1998. Working with a small costume budget of $200, very limited sound systems and writing everything by hand – a perfectionist, she planned everything from the costumes, music, performances, dance routines and song choices to the scenery design and programs. After the first year, my father said absolutely “no more” but of course she overcame that - in the sure knowledge that he adored her and would support anything that she wanted to pursue that gave her happiness. Another new life followed toxic shock and loss of kidney function, accumulating 24 pints of fluid and resembling the Michelin Man and dialysis for more than 5 weeks in 2009. With the prospects of permanent dialysis her recovery was in grave doubt. Into her sixth week in hospital, she told me she couldn’t leave me at that critical time because Victor was ill! Travelling to UK in 2011 to visit family after 10 years, she had her 91st birthday on the flight over with the pilot asking passengers to sing Happy Birthday to her! Such a happy time, cut short by a stroke 6 days later, a coma for four days and residual left side paralysis that remained from then on – another new life. But only a month beforehand she had been on stage for, what ended up as her last performance. Impersonating Gloria Gaynor singing “I Will Survive” with Afro wig, high heel shoes, long evening dress, strutting her stuff on stage – my Mother this absolutely incredible woman – is how we will all remember her. Because survive she did - she never lost her zest or enthusiasm for life – she always kept her sense of humor, loved music, dancing, the theater. She spent a great deal of time during the last few years at Westchester Gardens Rehabilitation Center. I will not pretend that she was happy there – but she made the best of everything, she was a positive thinker, so she learnt everyone’s name including the regular visitors, had a one armed wheelchair with three gears that allowed her to move and was all over the facility. Every day when I visited she would catch me up with CNN news bulletin, her favorite channel. On July 30th she was discussing the current presidential election candidates. She loved life and nothing, absolutely nothing, held her back – an inspiration of how to live your life and she will never be forgotten.