Two of her granddaughters gave the following tributes:
Who is she?
She is the dancing snow in January,
the smiling moon in February,
the rays of hope in March
and the warm rain in April.
She is the blossoming of flowers in May,
the birds that sing in June,
the ripening of grain in July
and the star shine in August.
She is the cooling breeze in September,
the swallows travelling in October,
the flickering flames in November
and the morning hush in December.
— Meggie Caldwell
This is a prayer written by a nun in the 17th. century. We found it in a bible in Grandam’s house. She had cut it out and kept it, so I would like to read it out.
Lord you know, better than I know myself, that I am growing older and will some day be old. Keep me from getting talkative and particularly from the fatal habit of thinking I must say something on every subject and on every occasion. Release me from the craving to try to straighten out everybody’s affairs. Keep my mind free from the recital of endless details: give me wings to get to the point. Seal my lips from the many aches and pains. They are increasing and my love for rehearsing them is becoming sweeter as the years go by. I ask for grace enough to listen to the tales of other’s pains. Help me to endure them with patience. Teach me the glorious lesson that occasionally it is possible that I may be mistaken. Keep me reasonably sweet.I’m afraid of becoming a saint; some of them are hard to live with, but a sour old woman is one of the crowning works of the devil. Make me thoughtful, but not moody; helpful, but not bossy. With my vast store of wisdom it seems a pity not to use it all, but you know, Lord, that I want a few friends at the end. Amen.
— Georgie Calvert-Lee