In the 1940s, Lynda Aileen Constance Elizabeth was born, into a world at war. She too had to fight throughout her childhood, being stricken by serious respiratory illness requiring an extensive rehabilitation regimen. Her mother and grandmother and great-grandmother gifted their names to her, and the strength to survive and to thrive. In the 1950s, Lynda began a lifetime of love for nature and animals. She showed the family whippets, and kept and rode ponies, and at 16 she took best rider at the Moorgreen Show. In the 1960s, Lynda began a lifetime of accomplishment. She was a keen swimmer and hurdler, and played netball for the Manor school team. She won multiple awards for modern ballroom and Latin American dance. She spent her eighteenth birthday on a Duke of Edinburgh outwards bound journey. She made head girl and left school with ten O levels and five A levels. She went into nursing for a year, and was encouraged to go farther, and at twenty she began studying physiotherapy at Nottingham and Sheffield university. She saw the Beatles before they were famous, and said they were rubbish. In the 1970s, Lynda fledged. She went to live in Switzerland, practicing physiotherapy and restoring paintings for Basel Kunstmuseum in the evening. It was at this time that she courted and married Peter Roland Ellenberger, a carpenter, chef, and saxophonist, and built fond relationships with his mother Trudy and his teenage son and daughter, Chris and Catherine. In the 1980s, Lynda nested. She and Peter moved to the Isle of Man, where they started a restaurant and a family with the birth of their daughter Lindsay. They split up and would later divorce, and she returned home to Derbyshire. She made her home by fields near Alfreton, and embraced her passion for art, restoring paintings whilst expanding her own portfolio, which would ultimately be exhibited in Mansfield museum. In the 1990s, Lynda took root. She moved to Mansfield to be near to her mother, and she returned to practicing physiotherapy, and took up cycling, and kept an allotment. She met Max, Peter’s son following their separation, and came to love him dearly. She discovered the works of Terry Pratchett, and joked that her final words would be ‘oh, bugger!’. In the noughties, Lynda transitioned into retirement. She rescued a greyhound, who she and Lindsay named Ozzy and loved dearly. As she ended her work as a physiotherapist, she took on a grand project of research, seeking out every record of local prehistory and folklore and making volumes of notes of what she termed her “hags’ legacy”. And she experienced painful loss with the passing of Ozzy and of her stepson Chris. In the 2010s, Lynda gained a dear friend. She and Lindsay took in Amy and came to regard her as part of the family. Lynda shared her wisdom with her as she had with her daughter, and in turn Amy helped inspire her to quit smoking. Her health improved to the point that she would go on bike rides once again. In the 2020s, Lynda came home again. After her health deteriorated, she moved to a new home by fields near Alfreton, and it brought her a new lease of life. She laughed and she sang and she danced, and went on walks in the fields and park and churchyard. Sadly, winter saw her health deteriorate further, and four months ago she was diagnosed with Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease and Congestive Cardiac Failure. She continued to enjoy life throughout her illness, delighting in her meals, including harvests she herself had sown, and dancing in her chair to top of the pops every Friday without fail. On May 6th, Lynda was taken in to Kings Mill Hospital with a chest infection, and initially responded to treatment. Sadly, this did not last, and on May 11th she gently passed without pain at 8:10. She delivered her promised last words, then during her final hours, friends and family sent messages of love and admiration, and as she was read a final goodbye from her best friend she gave a great nod. She slipped away peacefully and with dignity and surrounded with the love of her mother and daughter during a beautiful golden sunset. That night was clear, and Venus burned brightly over the trees as the stars came out to welcome her on her final voyage. …I did not know how to start writing this eulogy, until I washed and hung up one of mum’s favourite nighties, and read on its design three words that made everything make sense and which everything else could lead up to. I’m going to be ok, Mum. I’m strong because I’m your daughter, and I’m proud to be your loudest echo. You can rest, now. Rest in power. And dream. Dream beautiful dreams.