Sally Ann Christian, born Hammersmith 3rd July 1953, died Tunbridge Wells 7th February 2008.
There are some advantages to being an elder brother (though when your younger sister is Sally, not quite as many as you may think!), but the big worry is that one day your little sister will be able to get her own back, delivering the last word on your life and character. Well, the tables are turned, though I wish they weren't.
Let's be blunt: no one would look at Sally's life and say, "That's what I would like for myself." She always felt she'd had a difficult time:
This list would be quite enough to make anyone miserable, cynical, or even bitter - all things that Sally most definitely was not.
Although she could be indignant at some of the things that life brought her, she was always positive in her outlook. She started out as a jolly baby - as you can see from the picture in the Order of Service - and her outgoing nature and good-humour remained till the end. They are surely what we will most remember about her. She was a loving and passionate person who was always good company and always helpful; someone who left an impression on everyone who met her.
I'm afraid that when we were children I may have been the bane of Sally's life. Not through any deliberate acts - well, of course, I sometimes teased her - but because to start with, everywhere she went I had been before and this offended against her strong sense of independence: she didn't like to be seen as the second episode in our family saga rather than a story in her own right. But she soon made her separate mark, not least because we turned out to be quite different in character and interests. In fact, leg-pulling about our differences was a long-standing family pastime.
Of course, in some areas we shared an interest - as on the Saturday when we pooled our pocket money to go and buy "She Loves You". But even in music, our tastes diverged, and our degrees of musical talent were certainly very different. Music became one of the main threads of Sally's life, both as listener and as performer on flute, piano and cello. Her love of Bach, in particular, is reflected in this ceremony.
Throughout her life, Sally also loved the country. It probably started with our childhood car trips out to the Weald - Penshurst was a favourite destination - and her regular visits to the local riding stables. It ended, logically enough I suppose, with a house in an unfindable corner of Heathfield and another on a remote Scottish peninsula. She was particularly attached to Scotland - perhaps from some ancestral memory of our maternal forebears - and to Yorkshire, where she spent two years working in a riding school.
Those of you have only known Sally since she moved to Sussex may be surprised to learn that she was initially rather directionless - she didn't know what she wanted to do. (And of course children rarely announce that they want to go into healthcare management.)
It's really by accident that her professional life took the course it did. After music college, turning down a place to do Geography at Southampton, training as a riding instructor, and working as a temp in range of secretarial and administrative jobs, she finally landed at Nuffield in her late twenties. There she started to learn what was involved in managing hospitals, and to realise that this was something she enjoyed and was very good at.
I must admit that when I first toured the disused convent at Dudwell, with Sally explaining the miraculous transformation it would undergo to become a nursing home, I did feel a little sceptical, and I dare say many of the locals felt the same way. But of course our scepticism was misplaced: in the ten years of Sally and John's proprietorship, Dudwell St Mary became enormously successful, as both the testimonials from residents' families and its final commercial value attest.
As a child, I always thought of Sally as bossy - she certainly was towards me! But in a way she turned that to good account - the ability to see what needs doing, identify who should do it, and make sure they get on with it, is just what you need to be a successful manager. She was also an outstanding organizer - you should see the list of things to do that she has left for John and me!
Of course, she wasn't just bossy - that would be unbearable. To her colleagues and staff she was always friendly, considerate and fair. She herself was incredibly conscientious and hard-working - she might sometimes complain about the demands on her time, but she would never shirk something that needed doing. The very obvious distress of the staff at Dudwell St Mary when Sally and John decided to retire, was not just concern about their own fate, but strong affection and a doubt whether their next boss could possibly match up.
Although we are here to celebrate Sally's life, it would impossible to do so without thanking John. When they met, John was almost twice Sally's age and married, so he understandably met with my father's disapproval, not to mention some stern words of discouragement. But of course, their relationship has stood the test of time.
Sally would have made her mark without John, to be sure, but the success of the nursing home was built on their partnership, and without John's constant support her illness would surely have been much harder to bear.
People talk about Sally as brave. I think her resilience came down to something else, something apparent even in - especially in - her earliest years.
Basically, Sally never liked being told what do. Above all, she resented being told what she couldn't do. Her childhood response was usually to point out that her brother or one of her friends or indeed everyone was allowed to do what she had been denied, but unfortunately there is no such court of appeal for physical affliction.
However, the idea that an illness, however grave, however implacable, might prevent her from doing what she had planned was quite sufficient to bring out a mutinous, rebellious reaction.
Sally didn't wage a battle against cancer - something she could surely not win - but she conducted what you could call a campaign of resistance, trying to ensure that even if it might end her life, cancer would not ruin it. She saw no point in giving in:
Those who had not known Sally before her illness were often astonished at her strength of character. The rest of us weren't in the least surprised.
You all know the line from Dylan Thomas "Do not go gentle into that good night." Sally may not have exactly "raged against the dying of the light" - well, perhaps occasionally - but she certainly didn't submit meekly to her fate, until her body made the decision for her. Perhaps that is bravery.
I think it's pretty unlikely that anyone who met Sally would forget her. And looking through the tributes in the cards that John & I have received, it's clear that Sally was treasured for the same things by everyone. And we can continue to treasure them, even she is no longer with us.
Peter Christian
20th February 2008
More pictures
Order of Service for Sally's funeral