Epitaph

Epitaph On A Friend
An honest woman 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 warm'd,
Few heads with knowledge so inform'd;
If there's another world, she lives in bliss;
If there is none, she made the best of this.

Robert Burns (slightly amended)

Chris Williams – My Memories of Nina

I first met Nina at a labour history conference in Manchester in 1992. She attracted my attention for the declamatory, no-nonsense style with which she delivered her paper, and the robustness and energy with which she responded to her critics. But she also took the trouble to offer me, a rather wide-eyed junior lecturer, some kind and supportive comments. The roots of our friendship were sown then, and began to grow strongly when I contributed to a volume – Miners, Unions and Politics – that Nina co-edited with Alan Campbell and David Howell for Manchester University Press in 1996. For the next few years we met intermittently at conferences, and as Nina's work on Arthur Horner progressed she would occasionally phone me to ask about some detail of South Wales Miners' Federation history. Nina's dedication to this project was such that I think she re-lived the life of 'little Arthur', overflowing with enthusiasm and wonderment as she completed the huge jigsaw of his life and times.

Both of us came to Swansea University in 2005 – Nina as an Honorary Research Professor – and we began to work together on plans to attract funding for comparative labour history, involving colleagues in Germany, the Netherlands, Poland, Hungary and Portugal as well as elsewhere in the UK. Nina was undoubtedly the driving force – dashing off proselytizing emails (always 'urgent'!) to people who might initially have been alarmed by the directness of the approach, but rapidly realized that, with Nina, what you saw was what you got: commitment, passion and a never-wavering conviction that efforts would yield positive outcomes. Travelling abroad with Nina was always entertaining, because she relished new experiences so much, even if it was only seeing the Bristol Channel from the air as we flew from Amsterdam back to Cardiff.

Nina and Phil made the move physically to Swansea in 2007 and Nina immediately made her presence felt in the History department (though she had to be dissuaded from attending departmental meetings!). She was always there to take an interest, to offer encouragement and to push for a new initiative. Without her drive I suspect we would not now be looking forward to opening the Richard Burton Archive in May 2010. But Nina was not just a lively colleague, she was also a good friend with whom one could relax over a glass of wine, talk about cricket, or laugh at some of the absurdities of British higher education.

Nina's illness earlier in 2009 shook all who knew her. Her apparent recovery brought a smile to many a face – by force of personality Nina appeared to have beaten off a life-threatening condition. We began to plan again for new projects (she told me that we would co-author an article on the historiography of coal mining in 2010 – she told me, and I did not demur!), and of course she completed the writing of her biography of Horner. But in September I noticed that there was not quite the usual intensity or focus about her, and she confessed over dinner one night that she was still coming to terms with the after-effects of the operation. A few weeks later and the news was much more serious. Now, with the brevity and finality of the turning of a page, she has gone.

The vividness of Nina Fishman will, however, take a very long time to fade from my memory. She was one of those people who, by knowing, one's own life is greatly enriched. She was intellectually and personally immensely generous, and her belief in the importance of the history she studied, wrote and taught provided an invaluable reminder of the purpose of scholarly enquiry. But most of all I will miss picking up the telephone (usually amidst domestic chaos) to hear the words 'Hello love, it's NINA'.

Donald Sassoon

Awaiting text

Ben O’Mahony’s eulogy

I Googled Nina the other day to find out what it was the world knew about her. And there's a lot! In a quick search I struck on four separate obituaries; which moved me. They talk of her as: the ardent socialist, the tenacious campaigner, the Academic, the Writer, the Actor. But none of these were the Nina I knew.

She was simply my friend.

I have known Nina all of my life, which was only a fraction of hers. But most particularly for the last four years. She's supported me financially at times. When I first moved to back to London, she and Phil invited me to live with them. She was a mentor to me; she knew more about films, theatre, and playwrights than anyone I've met in my life. She spoke to me as an adult well before I was one. I remember once after having a conversation about Shakespeare's Winter's Tale, she called me up a couple of months later to tell me that she had booked tickets to see it in Stratford so that we could continue our chat. She valued what came out of my mouth more than I did, which is saying something!

In my opinion she was a real citizen of the world. She had a wonderfully unsentimental and stoic attitude towards life: whenever I would speak to someone about Nina they would always end up justifying whatever they said of her with "well she's Nina"; or when she got ill and I would speak to Phil and he would say "she's still Nina". It is this innate 'Nina-ness' that I will miss most.

I'd like to finish by reading a short poem by the American poet Mary Oliver:

                                                          When Death Comes

When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse

to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measles-pox;

when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,

and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth
tending as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.

When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it is over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world

Margaret Simpsons’s recollections

Nina and I met in 1962, when her father came to Cambridge for a year on a Ford Foundation fellowship. I have a vivid image of her in the living room of her house, with her parents, on a summer's afternoon, while her brothers, who were boys at the time, played in the garden. Nina was about 16 or 17, and, as you will imagine, very pretty, vivacious and politically switched on. She was soon knocking about with the same people I did, on the acting scene and at the University Labour Club.

A snapshot from those early days: four of us driving back to Cambridge from London, late at night. Nina in the back of the van with her boyfriend, leading us all in singing protest songs. For me that memory encapsulates so much of Nina – political conviction, love of song, a deep streak of romanticism. Politics was her faith, and nothing, throughout her life, would lessen her commitment.

But Nina was also deeply interested in people. If I ask myself why my friendship with her has survived when so many others have not, it is quite simply because Nina kept in touch. She put effort into her friendships – and she was always making new ones, and introducing us to each other. She was endlessly hospitable. She took a keen interest our children. Another snapshot – she and I and my three children all at the theatre together. My children cowering in adolescent embarrassment as Nina rose to her feet, clapping enthusiastically, and shouting "Bravo."

Her unabashed enthusiasm was one of the things I loved about her. I also loved her eccentricity. Nina was someone who bucked the trend. If it was fashionable, Nina wasn't into it. This was true of everything from politics through social trends, to fashion itself.

No one took more pleasure in her friends' successes, but she was also there for you when you were down. Even more important, was her ongoing interest in our work. When I visited her in Swansea at the start of this year, before her cancer was diagnosed, I mentioned a new writing project. Immediately she told me of an obscure autobiography in which my subject featured; not only that, but she had a copy. Phil was detailed to dig it out from the back row of a shelf of books stacked two deep, and sure enough, it was very helpful.

In July, when she seemed to have made a heroic recovery from her operation, we went to Stratford together. Over supper we talked about her book on Horner, to which she was putting the finishing touches, and about my project. I thought I was still flailing around, but Nina could see I had made progress. It was this sort of thoughtful, attentive encouragement, which made her such a valuable friend.

It always seemed to me that Nina's life really began to gel when she settled in Sotheby Road and got together with Phil. They were so mutually supportive and so good at giving each other space to do their own thing. Nina still sallied forth to her many meetings and immersed herself in her writing, but Phil's humour and shrewd common-sense seemed to me to help her lighten up. She had great respect for his intelligence and his judgement. So did I. An endorsement for a play or a film from Nina could mean a riveting evening or one that was hard-going. A double endorsement was a much safer bet.

Nina faced the ordeal of her illness with great courage and stoicism, and no one could have done more for her than Phil, who nursed her single-handedly at home, and juggled her needs against the needs of her friends who wanted so badly to say farewell. I'd like to thank you for this, Phil, on my own behalf and behalf of everyone here. [And to offer my deep sympathy to you and to her brothers.

Nina was a great presence, a huge spirit. For my part, I feel truly privileged to have had her for a friend.

‘Order of Service’ - Nina’s Funeral 17th January 2009

Paul Robeson – Ballad of Joe Hill

We should ask not how she died, but how she lived. Not what she gained, but what she gave. Should this not be how we measure the worth of a friend?

We have come here today from many different places, some far away, not only to bid a sad farewell to Nina Fishman, but more importantly to celebrate, honour and pay tribute for her life, work and the gift of her friendship. And by doing this to offer comfort, support and our sympathy to her family; to her beloved husband Phil, her brothers Danny and David and their families. I have been asked to say, in Phil's words, that "They seriously appreciate that you've all come". You are all very welcome.

I am David Phillips. And like you, I am a friend of Nina's. Nina was (is) my oldest and closest friend. And that is a privilege that I am proud to share with you and the many others who cannot be here today.

"People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but they will never forget how you made them feel". [Maya Angelou]

Nina made us all feel good. There was no day so bleak, no weather so dark that Nina's arrival couldn't improve it. Nina was not only a good friend, but was good at being a friend. She put a great deal of time into her friends, into making them, but more importantly into keeping them.

And it is therefore not a stranger, but her friends who will speak of her this afternoon, those who truly knew her and who will share their memories of their friend, our friend Nina. In the time available this will, of necessity, not tell it all. You will also appreciate that this is going to be difficult for us, so I hope you will understand and forgive if we stumble or falter a little on the way.

We will hear from Margaret Simpson, one of Nina's oldest friends, I think she trumps the rest of us as she knew Nina when she was 16. Then we will hear Ben, the son of her friends Jan and Paul O'Mahony, someone who Nina has known all his life, then Donald Sassoon who wrote such a warm and splendid obituary in the Guardian, will speak of her life in London and finally Chris Williams will talk about Swansea.

Firstly, Margaret. Margaret was unexpectedly taken ill last night and cannot be here in person, so she has asked me to stand in for her. This is what she wanted to say.
then

Ben, then
Donald, then
Chris.

Of course, I too will miss Nina. I'll miss her phone calls, ringing up with some bit of news or to find out what's going on or to invite us to meet someone she thought we'd like or simply to come over for food. I'll miss her unexpected visits when she was out for one of her enormous walks and just thought she'd call in for a cup of tea. She expected to be welcomed and of course she was.

I'll miss too her capacity to eat for Britain. She brought the same enthusiasm and dedication to the table as she did with everything else. From the first, she was for me the personification of the 'Eater Upper', a character in N F Simpson's play, One Way Pendulum. She wouldn't eat anything, Nina liked good food, but given it, she'd eat it. All of it. And yours too if there was any left!

Nina was serious but was also great fun. She gave herself to laughter as fully as she did everything. She was a great audience.

Nina was generous; generous with her intelligence and learning, although never battering you over the head with it, well perhaps if you opposed her in debate. I recall her taking issue at a seminar with one prominent MP (not the one here today) who had asserted that since Russian tanks posed no threat to Britain, they shouldn't inform NATO defence policy. Nina suggested, icily politely, that those people living within drive time of the Russian border might take a rather different view.

And Nina was generous; generous with her enthusiasm and energy, generous with things, if you liked something she'd give it to you, as Ben said she'd get tickets and take you to something she thought you'd like – or she thought you should like!
Above all Nina was unstintingly generous with her time. Even in her last weeks, when desperately ill, she made time for the almost constant flow of friends wanting (but desperately not wanting) to take their leave.

And it was that generosity that led Nina & Phil, to commission a 'free' performance of the Verdi Requiem. Nina had 'decided' that she wanted to hear the Verdi Requiem before she died, but a planned performance could not be found in the time she thought she had available. So Nina did what Nina always did, if no-one was doing what was necessary – she'd do it herself and so, of course, she did. The concert will be performed on Sunday January 17^th 2010 as planned, as Nina was adamant that it should go ahead whether she made it or not. The Requiem will now fulfil its proper purpose.

We began this short service with a song from Paul Robeson. Nina did love his voice – many times playing him at the wrong moment. Some of you will have been at parties that were brought to a standstill when Nina nipped upstairs and played Robeson, or alternatively Edda Moser singing Queen of the Night! We are going to end with another song, The Internationale. A song that is not only appropriate, but one that was very important to Nina. And one which reduced her to tears every time she heard it. I am going to ask all of you to join in and sing it with gusto. Doesn't matter if you can't sing – give it all you've got. If time is short we will begin to leave the chapel whilst we are singing. I'd like those of who remain to carry on singing. The coffin will remain for you to make your goodbyes as you leave. Phil would then like you all to join him and the family at the Grand Hotel by the station.

The comfort of having a friend or a sister may be taken away, but not that of having had one – and we were all privileged to have had the gift of Nina in life. So before we sing, I'd like to take offer you space, a few brief moments, for your own thoughts and memories of Nina and a prayer if that is what you want to do.

Long Pause

Would you please stand

Internationale
End

Nina’s Funeral 17th December 2009

With apologies for the posting hiatus.

I was very honoured (and pleased and proud) when Phil asked me to 'mc Nina's funeral'. And to tell the truth I was also s..t scared. I have spoken at many funerals, but this was something of an entirely different order. Clearly I wanted to do a good job, and justify Phil's confidence in me. I didn't want to let down him, Nina, the family or the hundreds of friends who would be there. But what do you say, that isn't trite, cliché or hackneyed? And how do you hold it altogether when speaking of your closest friend? All that is challenge enough but in addition I then found out that there is the additional difficulty of the timing when officiating at a crematorium service. You have an half-hour slot and assuming five minutes each for the mourners arriving and departing, it means that you have twenty minutes for the actual service. As I say, scary.

Phil was pleased with my efforts – but perhaps he wasn't the most dispassionate assessor. The family and mourners were also complimentary – if they thought otherwise, well they wouldn't say so would they!

The thing I will remember most about it, was the palpable sense of enormous warmth, love and affection and the huge amount of laughter, as we shared our experiences of Nina. Yes we were mourning and grieving, but we remembered that whilst Nina was serious, she was also immense fun.

I wish to thank the staff at the Crematorium who were of enormous assistance, as was Mervyn, the undertaker – the right man at the right time. They also complimented me on finishing smack on time – to the minute! Something that they said that vicars who had been doing it for many years often failed to do. They suggested a second career could be beckoning. Hmm, we'll see.

Well I did my best and if nothing else I at least got the timing right! But I'll leave you to judge whether I succeeded or not. The 'service' and the various tributes follow in successive posts. I'm still awaiting an electronic version of Donald's eulogy. Paul O'Mahony, (someone who I met at Jan & Lawrence Fry's in Llanarthne and a mutual friend of Lawrence and Nina) recorded the funeral on his new state of the iPhone (very fancy). However, it will need a bit of work to get it up to 'broadcast quality'. Several of us had discussed how we created a space for the many people who wished to post their recollections and memories of Nina, plus photo's and other stuff. When we have got that together we will put the recording on it.

Phil had organised the 'wake' at the Grand Hotel – and the Hotel staff did a fantastic job. Several hours were spent meeting Nina's family and friends – and learning new things about Nina, some of them very surprising. I went straight from that to St Mary's Carol Service. I went with Paul O'Mahony, one of the Glyndourneanians. It seemed an entirely appropriate end to the day. This was the standard lessons & Carol thing but St Mary's do it very well. It has a superb choir and the church was packed. Paul was much taken with meeting all the 'dignitaries' – Bishop, archdeacon, Lord Lieutentant and Lord Mayor, amongst others. He also chatted with many of my other acquaintances. He offered them all 'Greetings from Cork' (unusurprisingly that's where he's from). He is also an avid blogger, I think he has three on the go, plus twitter and Facebook. If you have the energy to search his latest site (he is prolific, if not prolix) then I am sure you will find what he said about the funeral and the Carol Service.

I was sad that Andrew Vesey the Rector at St Mary's wasn't there as he was ill, although he was ably substituted by the Archdeacon of Gower. I have a great regard for Andrew Vesey, especially for his willingness to speak out and provide moral leadership. I thought Paul would have liked him as well.

PS. It turns out that Paul hasn't posted anything. Still his blog is worth a look if only for its variety and the sheer energy it displays.