Mrs Andrew Rasmussen was known as Mrs Andrew Rasmussen or simply Mrs Rasmussen. Few used her first name. What a lovely person!
She had six children. She organised the annual school picnic, when all the parents came along with a picnic lunch on the sprawling country school grounds. She instituted the country women’s club for mutual support among the local mothers. She had a garden (both vegetables and flowers) to die for. She supported her husband in all he did at work, and even joyfully went along to the monthly factory bowls tournament, which she secretly disliked.
Of course her six children flourished. They all got reasonable jobs, got married, and had children of their own. And what a grandmother she was to all of them! They were her life!
Eventually she died; at the reasonable age of eighty-five. Eighty-five wonderful and full years! She stipulated that she was to be cremated and her ashes scattered amongst the… “Oh! Do what you like with the ashes, I won’t be minding!”
Years later, a great granddaughter was researching her ancestry. There was no headstone to go on. She searched through every local newspaper to glean snippets of insight. The only mention anywhere of her great grandmother was a reference in a newspaper on a local wedding:
Mrs Andrew Rasmussen wore an ensemble of green chiffon velvet trimmed with beige fur, and hat of the same shade.
Mrs Maisie Gilliver was a wonder. She was addicted to genealogy; not just hers, but everyone else’s as well. She had discovered that the more information she uploaded onto genealogical sites, the more free research time was allotted to her. She searched the internet and copied other’s family trees at will and then placed the information on other genealogical sites.
Mrs Maisie Gilliver was marvellously flexible, for example, Great Aunt Sylvia kept on having babies for a good decade after her death; three siblings were born within four months of one another; Uncle Harold played the church organ every Sunday for eleven years without missing a Sunday and in between Sundays he traversed the world in his sailing ship.
Mrs Maisie Gilliver thought she was being helpful. In fact, she completely stuffed up the chances of other researches finding useful and accurate information on the internet. It had been junked out.
Mrs Maisie Gilliver’s next project is to upload recipes…
Winifred Seacock had devoted her life to saving the Taranaculus clivisphorum. In fact, she was given an award for her efforts by her country. “Awarded for preserving the Taranaculus clivisphorum for future generations,” said the citation. Winifred wore the medal with pride. She wore it only on formal occasions mind you; she wasn’t a show-off; she hadn’t let it go to her head.
Every day, for the last twenty-one years, Winifred had tended to the needs of the Taranaculus clivisphorum. People were amazed, naturally, at her dedication.
“There are possibly only four specimens left in the world,” said Winifred. “They should reproduce, but we simply don’t have the money.”
Donations poured in after that. A special compound was created, with the right climatic conditions.
And then, and then… it happened! Winifred was stung by the Taranaculus clivisphorum. On the finger. She had just enough time to swipe all four dead with a fly swot before she herself dropped dead from the poison.
“Take that, you ungrateful Taranaculus clivisphorums,” were her last words.