Chris Banfield (Nephew)
Entered
January 13, 2024
from London/Chennai
Monica Townson, née Wagg, was my mother Diana’s elder, and only, sister, and therefore my aunt. Along with their younger brothers Roger and Patrick, the girls grew up together in the village of Docking, Norfolk, England in the 1930s and 40s. Monica’s maternal grandfather was the village blacksmith and her father, Terry Wagg, had the entrepreneurial ambition, practical know-how, and intelligence to transform the fortunes of the small family bakery he took over in the village until it was one of the most successful businesses in north Norfolk. T R Wagg eventually earned the Royal Warrant as supplier of bread and confectionary to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II at Sandringham, and became President of the Master Bakers’ Association.
Monica and Diana went by train to boarding school from Docking station. The school, the East Anglian School for Girls, was near Bury St Edmunds. Monica was academically gifted and thrived in every way at school, becoming Head Girl and earning the respect of her peers and teaching staff. Securing a place to study at the London School of Economics was a tremendous achievement for a young woman in the 1950s when traditional gender roles dominated. But Monica’s talents clearly impressed. She moved to London. My mother remembered visiting Monica in a basement flat in London that she was renting while a student. She recalled, in particular, the “pea-souper” fog (or, more accurately, smog) which was common in London at the time and which meant it was often impossible to see much when venturing out, even in daylight hours!
While their professional paths differed considerably, the sisters shared a common leap into marriage which took them both across the Atlantic in the late 1950s. Monica settled in Canada with her English husband, Barry Townson, while Diana set up home with her American husband, Jack Banfield in Michigan. Their firstborn children, my brother Terry and cousin Diana, were born within a few weeks of one another, and their arrival subsequently occasioned a joint visit home to Norfolk where the babies were proudly welcomed by grandfather, later to be known as ‘Bam’, grandmother Dorothy, always ‘Nan’, and brothers Roger and Patrick, at Mountfield House.
Growing up in north Norfolk in the 1960s with my mother and brother, Terry, I remember Monica’s family’s visits to Docking, and our common grandparents, over a number of summers. The, albeit faded, period colour photographs attest to bright August days of slides, paddling pools, beach visits, and sometimes cricket in the back garden. Monica was always enormously generous with her Christmas and birthday gifts to us two brothers as we were growing up. We took great delight at opening the packages she sent, most often of beautiful, hardback books, and, on Christmas Day, after the Queen’s Speech, we would speak over a crackly line with the Canadian family for a call that was pre-booked for a set few minutes’ duration. Just time enough to say, “Happy Christmas!”, by the time we had got round everyone…
However, it wasn’t until I was in my early 20s, spending ‘time out’ after university, that I really got to know and appreciate Monica, as an adult. I was staying in Boston through the winter of 1984 and in the early spring of 1985, Monica kindly invited me up to Ottawa, where she was living at the time. On that visit, I was also most generously hosted in Toronto by David and Erica. I thank them both.
I have many fond memories of that time. In spite of having to juggle her own work schedule and the demands of hitting copy and research deadlines, she found time to take me out for coffees and brunches, to the theatre (which was my passion), and hosted a family gathering at home for Sunday lunch. Monica was a great cook. But simply getting to know this remarkable woman was perhaps the greatest blessing. It was a joy to be able to talk to Monica about simply anything. She was always so exceptionally well-informed and engaged with politics and current affairs, whether at local, national or international levels. But she was a listener, too. I felt entirely in sympathy with her political outlook and reforming instincts. Her balance, articulacy and razor-sharp intellect, and her insightful observations on all manner of topics, not to mention the growing list of authored titles on women and economic matters, including pensions, left me in the greatest admiration. She was indeed - and remains - an inspirational figure in my life.
A stand out memory is of Monica driving me on a brilliantly sunny but freezing cold morning from Ottawa to Montreal in her sports car, at high speed, on the highway. I was put in charge of the police radar speed trap detector. This gadget, entirely illegal, of course, sat on top of the dashboard on the passenger’s side, ready to be thrust back out of sight into the glove compartment at a moment’s notice should any police presence be sighted. Fortunately, we didn’t get caught!
My mother succumbed to Alzheimer’s disease in her 80s and, though she battled bravely, passed away at the age of 86 in 2022. I have no doubt, had she been able, she would have wished to pay tribute to her brilliant sister, with whom she shared such a strong bond of love and friendship. She would, I am sure, have wished to say just how generous Monica had always been to her, and mention, for example, the gifts of delicately crafted Inuit jewellery, beautiful leather gloves, the latest Margaret Atwood novels and poems, and a long running subscription to Horizon magazine just a few among many that ‘Mon’ sent to her over the years. But the gifts of fun and laughter, of just being able to lark about together – and remember the larks with such hilarity – those were the priceless ones.
It’s a privilege to have known Monica and I am so sorry I cannot be present in person at her funeral. I shall always remember her with great affection, admiration and respect. I send my sincere condolences to you all. May she rest in peace.
