Diana

Diana Brewester passed away in the days running up to Christmas 2003. She was a wonderfully kind-spirited person who gave generously of her time and immense knowledge on a wide spectrum of subjects. She was an executive member of the B.O.S. and the V.R.S. and was a leading light of the Highgate Byron Society. Her enthusiastic dedication and unfettered support for all of my many projects made her an invaluable member of the team. Her extensive knowledge included opera, literature and the arts. She was especially fond of Wagner’s music and the poetry of Lord Byron. Diana was acquainted with many eminent people throughout her life, but I doubt any were shown the devotion and loyalty she afforded me. Her self-effacing modesty in all she did was something that endeared her to many. Though she had abandoned Christianity in her youth for paganism, when she met me she returned to the fold. She later supported the Society of St George. From 1984, Diana was my London Secretary and Personal Assistant. When she was diagnosed with cancer in the latter half of 2003, she showed amazing courage and continued to be cheerful until her last breath.  Diana was always great fun, and never more so than in company. She is missed by all who knew her; whether fleetingly for a few moments or more fortunately across a duration of many years.

“I was so sorry to hear of the passing of Diana Brewester. Life is enriched by the presence of such people and if the world seems a little colder and a little darker by their passing, we must consider ourselves privileged to have known them. My thoughts are with you at this time.”

~ Peter Underwood

Diana 

(19 July 1944 - 16 December 2003) 

Requiescat in Pace

†

They scarcely waked before they slept,

                                                                        

They scarcely wept before they laughed;

                                                                        

They drank indeed death’s bitter draught,

                                                                        

But all its bitterest dregs were kept

                                                                        

And drained by Mothers whilst they wept.

                                                                        

From Heaven the speechless Infants speak:

                                                                        

Weep not (they say), our Mothers dear,

                                                                       

For swords nor sorrows come not here.

                                                                        

Now we are strong who were so weak,

                                                                        

And all is ours we could not seek.

                                                                        

We bloom among the blooming flowers,

                                                                        

We sing among the singing birds;

                                                                        

Wisdom we have who wanted words:

                                                                        

Here morning knows not evening hours,

                                                                        

All’s rainbow here without the showers.

                                                                        

And softer than our Mother’s breast,

                                                                        

And closer than our Mother’s arm,

                                                                        

Is here the Love that keeps us warm

                                                                        

And broods above our happy nest.

                                                                        

Dear Mothers, come: for Heaven is best.

(Christina Rossetti)