In loving memory of my mother, Joyce Smillie (1927-2006)

Joyce Isobel Leslie Smillie (née Smith)

• Father: James Robert Leslie Smith (born in Dunoon; Scottish Sales Manager for Crompton Parkinson; died 1962)
• Mother: Dolly (Dolina or Donaldina) McLeod (born in Aberdeen; died 1980)
• Husband: Sam (Samuel Cannaway Green) Smillie (fireman, Clydebank, died 1984)
• Daughters: Donna (Donaldina Mary), Beth (Elizabeth Claire), Lynn (Lynn Joyce)

• Born: October 1927, Glasgow
• Married: March 1955, Clydebank
• Died: April 2006, Law

Joyce's father's family are the (Leslie) Smith family from Dunoon on the north west bank of the Firth of Clyde in Scotland. We know that they are descended from two families, the Leslies and the Smiths, from Fife. Much useful information about these family links came from two wills which survived intact and which she found in amongst a box full of papers and photographs - the wills of Robert Leslie (1815) and of his son-in-law, James Smith (1862). The later will shows that it was one of James Smith's sons who moved to Dunoon - Robert Leslie Smith, Joyce's great grandfather, who became the third Provost of Dunoon.

She was an only child, and her father's job meant that they never stayed in one place for very long, so she moved from school to school, always having to start over again making new friends - these things enhanced the practical, self-reliant side of her character.  When she set her mind to something, she tackled it with determination.  She would rarely ask for help - not from pride, but it simply didn't occur to her that she shouldn't just do what needed doing herself.

Her father, an electrical engineer, to some extent treated her as the son he never had, and showed her how to wire plugs, fix cars, and all sorts of other unladylike things, which she relished, however hard her mother tutted with disapproval.

"For Xmas 1932 I asked Santa Claus to bring me a train set. On Xmas morning under the Xmas tree, I spied a large package with my name on it which when unwrapped revealed - A TRAIN SET. I was absolutely ecstatic! I remember bumping round the sitting room on my knees with my train set, totally incoherent. Goodness knows how long it was before I was actually able to sit down and play with it sensibly!"
-- Joyce's own words

"In September 1945 I applied for and got a job in the Royal (Dick) Veterinary college, working in the Equine Pregnancy Diagnosis Lab in The Department of Animal Husbandry. This was interesting work, and many of the horses tested belonged to famous owners. A year later I got the opportunity of working in toxicology. This also was very interesting and involved working with samples from birds and animals found dead in suspicious circumstances. I also assisted in a number of post mortems of horses, which although interesting was very messy!"
-- Joyce's own words

As well as being practical and pragmatic, she was caring and compassionate.

In the mid/late 70s, she held down a full time job, cared for her growing family, and nursed an increasingly frail mother and a husband whose health was failing.  Of course she had moments of despair - she wasn't a superwoman. But as ever, she simply shouldered what she saw as her responsibilities, and got on with it.  And managed to do it with love and few if any complaints.

She lived in Clydebank from 1955 until 1993, when she moved to Law to live with her daughter Beth and Beth's husband, David Doughty.

This was the 14th home she had lived in, as a result of moving around so much when she was a child.

She was strong and healthy for most of her life, but in 1998, at the age of 70, she was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.  She was lucky - the cancer was discovered very early, so it was possible to operate, and she had the best surgeon in this field - Professor Imrie, at Glasgow Royal Infirmary.  Because pancreatic cancer isn't usually discovered until it is in an advanced stage, the odds aren't too wonderful - in only 20% of cases diagnosed with this cancer is surgery an option, and only 20% of those cases survive more than 2 years after surgery - pancreatic cancer has a high likelihood of returning within a few years, and when it does it tends to be pretty aggressive.

But she beat the odds and the cancer, until last year (2005), when it returned and eventually spread to her liver.

In the years between 1998 and 2005, however, she made the most of the time she'd been granted, and amongst other things went on a 3 week trip to China - a place she'd always wanted to visit - with her cousin and close friend, Claire.

Two particular memories we have of Joyce give you a sense of the sort of person she was.

When a repair was needed to the chimney of the house she lived in in Clydebank after her husband died and her children left home, she dug out the DIY book, bought the materials she needed, got the ladder out, and went up onto the (flat) roof to fix it herself.  The repair was successful.  She then hauled the vacuum cleaner up onto the roof and vacuumed up the debris.  Amazed that that sight didn't cause a traffic accident as drivers slowed down to stare in disbelief. They must have thought she was taking housepride and cleanliness to extreme levels.  That was at the age of 60.

Even at the age of 76, when she was concerned about the proximity of some of the trees to the house, she donned some paper overalls, descended into the house foundations, and crawled over pipes and through wiring and cobwebs to check that no tree roots had, or were threatening to, break through.

She was determined to die at home if at all possible, and dreaded a long, drawn out death.  If it's possible to be lucky in the manner of one's death, she was.  The final decline was rapid, and involved minimal discomfort and pain.  The care she received from her GP and the team of nurses and care assistants provided via the local health centre was unstinting and compassionate.  My sisters and I spent as much time with her as we could over the last few weeks.

She kept racing ahead of us all, though.  When we were thinking in terms of months, it was already down to weeks, and when we thought it was weeks, it was actually down to days.  Last Sunday, the doctor indicated that we were probably looking at 2 weeks, possibly less.  By Monday afternoon, though, it became clear that we were looking at hours, not even days.

Apart from a few fuzzy moments - the result of the medication she was on to control any pain - she was clear and lucid and very much herself up to a few hours before she died.  On Monday morning, the house was particularly busy with care assistants calling in at 10am and 1pm, the district nurses at 10.30am, and the GP due to look in around 12.  When the nurses were chatting to her, and the constant stream of visitors came into the conversation, despite having very little energy to speak, she looked at them, and slowly said, in a very quiet, breathless voice "I think... I'm going... to have... a migraine...", but as we all started to ask if she wanted anything to help control it, she continue "... around 12 o'clock ...", and we realised that she was making a typically dry, Joyce style joke. :)

As the afternoon wore on, however, we began to suspect that she was going.  We phoned Lynn, who had planned to come back up at the end of the week, and said it might be a good idea to put the "drop everything and run" plan into operation.  Luckily Lynn's mother-in-law was immediately contactable to look after Lynn's two children, and Lynn was able to set off almost immediately.  She arrived at 10.30pm.

Joyce died, very calmly and peacefully, at home, with her three daughters and her son-in-law David, just before midnight on Monday night.

An honest woman here lies at rest.
The friend of man, the friend of truth,
The friend of age and guide of youth.
Few hearts like hers with virtue warmed,
Few heads with knowledge so informed.
If there's another world, she lives in bliss;
If there's none, she made the best of this.
-- Robert Burns

If I should die before the rest of you,
Break not a flower nor inscribe a stone.
Nor, when I'm gone, speak in a Sunday voice,
But be the usual selves that I have known.
Weep if you must,
Parting is hell.
But life goes on,
So... sing as well.
-- Joyce Grenfell

• A few photographs of my mother
• The funeral

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