Jean Willows (25 Apr 1949 - 20 Jun 2026)

I was very sad to learn of Jean's passing. She was a lovely brave lady who smiled all the time. She will be truly missed. My heart felt condolences to Claire and all the family.

A wonderful brave lady who smiled all the time. I'm very sad to learn of her passing and she will be truly missed.

I only got to know Jean at water colour painting classes in Blunsdon a few years before ,COVID . I loved hearing of her travels to Australia at Christmas & the countries she stopped over at. In recent years I often bumped into her in the village & would have a chat. Rest in peace Jean

Dearest Mum/Jean/Granny, forever in our hearts. Love always, Claire, Pete, Charlie & Alex

Memories of Mum.
Today we say goodbye to Mum — Jean.
Over these last few weeks, I’ve found myself thinking a lot about her life. Not just the final chapter, but the whole journey — the people she loved, the places she lived, the adventures she had, and the life she built.
One of the greatest gifts we have now is that my sister Claire sat down with Mum over the last year and recorded her telling her story in her own words. Listening back to those conversations has been extraordinary.
What struck me most was how vividly she remembered everything — the houses, the people, the little details. It reminded me how much memory mattered to Mum, and how much of her life was rooted in people and places.
Mum was born at home in Brockley, South East London, in a terraced house with black and white tiles in the hallway and a red carpet runner down the middle. She remembered her brothers sliding down it, walking to school, and getting pennies for lunch.
Simple beginnings.
But her childhood quickly became anything but ordinary.
Just before her sixth birthday, the family moved to Kuwait. It was meant to be for two years, but became twelve.
And those years shaped her.
She spoke about them with such warmth — the beaches, the swimming, the tennis, camping overnight by the sea, and the freedom of growing up, in a close expat community.
Her parents even managed to create a garden in the desert, growing vegetables and keeping chickens — something that feels fitting, because that spirit of self-sufficiency ran right through Mum’s family.
They were very much the kind of people who grew what they could, made what they could, and wasted very little. A real make-do-and-mend generation.
I remember that myself as a child, walking through my grandparents’ garden, feeding the chickens, ducks, geese and goats, surrounded by fruit and vegetables growing everywhere.
And Mum carried that same philosophy through her own life.
Grow your own.
Make do.
Keep going.
Create something from what you have.
Music was also a huge part of her life. Her parents met through singing in church choirs, and Mum carried that on herself — learning piano, singing in choirs, and even performing at Christmas concerts at the Royal Albert Hall.
That love of music stayed with her all her life.
At 11, she came back to England for boarding school, far from the sun soaked beeches and a long way from her parents. Like so many times in her life, she had to adapt.
That’s something I’ve realised about Mum.
Again and again, when life changed, she found a way to keep going.
As a teenager she described herself as shy, but somewhere between the false eyelashes, heavy eyeliner, short skirts and those famous white Courrèges boots, she met Dad — Richard.
Not in some great romantic story.
Just through mutual friends and apple picking.
But from there they built a life.
They married in the garden at Yew Cottage, with Mum’s own mother doing the catering — just as she did for all three of her children’s weddings.
Family looking after family.
I came along first, and then Claire, and over the years there were many homes — Woodcote, Didcot, Minster Lovell, Baydon, Swindon & of course Blunsdon.
And if there’s one thing that became clear from Mum’s memories, it’s that home mattered deeply to her.
Not just the houses themselves, but what happened inside them.
She remembered every room, every staircase, every garden.
Because home was where life happened.
And Mum was always making life happen.
She was practical and resourceful. At home she baked bread from scratch, made fudge, grew fruit and vegetables, and somehow kept things going through all of life’s ups and downs.
And in her working life, Mum spent many years as a PA and executive assistant — always in that supporting role, calmly and efficiently helping others, organising, managing, and keeping things running smoothly.
And when I think about it, that feels very much like Mum.
Whether at home or at work, she was often the steady presence in the background — not looking for attention, but making sure everything held together.
She just got on with things.
No fuss.
No drama.
Just determination.
And she never lost her adventurous side.
There was skiing, windsurfing, hot air ballooning, diving, and travelling.
She embraced life.
PAUSE.
Like all families, ours had difficult chapters too. Life didn’t always follow the straight line anyone hoped for, and there were painful and complicated times.
But Mum carried those years with honesty and reflection.
Because none of us are defined by just one chapter.
And then came Dick.
Dick became Mum’s partner for the final great chapter of her life. Together, along with Rachel and Michael, they built a blended family and shared over 30 years together.
For at least ten of those years, they travelled the world, skied, dived, explored, and made the most of life.
It feels like she found another season of joy.
But six years ago, everything changed.
Dick had his stroke.
The travelling stopped.
The diving stopped.
And once again, Mum had to adapt.
This time by becoming Dick’s full-time carer.
And for six years she cared for him with incredible patience, strength and determination.
As his health declined, she kept going.
She did everything she could to keep him at home, to support him, and to care for him with dignity.
Anyone who has cared for someone knows what that takes.
It asks everything of you.
And Mum gave everything.
Eventually Dick had to move into the care home, and I know that was one of the hardest things she ever faced.
But even then, she carried on.
And when I think about Mum now, that chapter tells me so much about who she truly was.
My relationship with Mum was perhaps different to some.
We were never the kind of mother and son where conversation flowed easily. It often took work.
Left to ourselves, we’d often end up talking about the weather… or gardening.
But gardening was something we shared.
Mum loved her garden. She loved flowers — all flowers — but she also loved growing things, just as her parents had before her.
There was something deeply rooted in her about that way of life — nurturing, growing, making, and mending.
Her house and garden were always full of colour, beauty, and life.
And looking back, that feels like such a fitting reflection of who she was.
Because she nurtured.
She cared.
She kept things going.
PAUSE
Maybe love doesn’t always show itself in big words or easy conversations.
Sometimes it’s found in quieter moments, shared interests, practical things, and simply being there.
Her favourite flowers were pink lilies.
And it feels fitting that today, alongside pink roses, they’re with her one final time.
A final reminder of the beauty she loved, and the care she gave.
Mum was adventurous.
She was musical.
She was practical.
She was shy, but warm.
She was resilient.
She loved deeply.
She made mistakes, like we all do.
She learned.
She endured.
And above all, she cared.
As a daughter.
As a mother to me and Claire, and a step Mum to Micheal and Rachel,
As a partner to Dad and Dick.
As a grandmother to ten grandchildren.
And as a friend to many.
That thread of care runs through her whole life.
And now, as we say goodbye, we carry all those versions of her with us.
The little girl in Brockley.
The child in Kuwait.
The singer.
The traveller.
The mother.
The grandmother.
The carer.
The keeper of family stories.
And now those stories are ours to carry.
PAUSE
So today, surrounded by the flowers she loved — especially her pink lilies — we remember a life that, like her garden, was full of colour, resilience, beauty, and care.
Goodbye Mum.
Thank you for your life.
Thank you for your love.
And thank you for all the ways, big and small, that you shaped ours.
Like the flowers you loved so much, your memory will continue to bloom in all of us.
And we will carry you with us, always.

Sorry for your loss

In loving memory of my dear friend Jean.

Jean will always be remembered with loving affection as a dear friend. We send our condolences to her family at this very sad time, such a sad loss. Rest in Peace dear Jean. Sheila & John

Rest in peace Jean. All my love to your family xx

Will give dad a kiss from you. Miss you lots ❤️

Dear Mum, you will always be in my heart, love always. XX