Funeral Tribute by Rev Kip Bennett, nephew.
Created by kip 8 years agoTo introduce myself…… Joyce’s only sibling, her brother George, had 4 children, my older brother John, myself, officially Christopher, but known as Kip, and then my two sisters, Liz (formerly Mary), and Anne. Joyce was also my Godmother. On behalf of the family I would like to thank you all for coming, and offer you a few snapshots of the aunt we were so proud of.
My most obvious early memories of Joyce are the occasions when we met her on her return to England, or saw her off as she went back to Hong Kong. She was the aunt who came and went, but mostly wasn’t there because she was in Hong Kong. The separation from family for years at a time was part of the sacrifice which her service in Hong Kong required of both herself and the family.
When she came home, she lived with her parents, who were my grandparents, in Prestwood, and we visited them regularly, every Sunday afternoon, so we saw Joyce frequently, until she went away again.
To a small child the excitement of Joyce’s arrival was in large part due to an expectant curiosity about the exotic gifts which she might have brought with her. A definite favourite for me was the stem ginger in syrup in a Chinese jar. We can now buy it in Tesco’s, but I swear that it doesn’t taste as good without the Chinese jar and the cachet of being a personal import.
Joyce’s return meant slide shows – one slide at a time in an Aldis projector. There were also prints in single film flip folders – standard in Hong Kong but new to us in England. We became familiar with the HK skyline, and new high rise buildings, as well as more rural scenes from the New Territories. But mostly the pictures were of people I didn’t know, and whose connection to Joyce I couldn’t follow, so as a child I found them less than gripping. And Joyce knew so many people! In today’s language, she was very good at networking.
I remember Joyce with her stamp collection spread out across the dining table – a collection rich in stamps from many places across the world, but my brother and I were particularly interested in the early British stamps, and glad to acquire a few duplicates.
The most memorable of Joyce’s departures happened when her return to HK, taking her new car with her, coincided with our family summer holiday. Joyce had bought a Mini, and we had a Mini Traveller. Taking both cars, we crossed the channel in a recycled military transport plane. An overnight train took us to the south of France. We then drove in convoy through the Alps to Genoa in Northern Italy. There we watched as Joyce’s car was lifted off the dockside by crane, and lowered into the hold of her ship. Getting to Hong Kong took rather longer then than today’s flights. After saying goodbye to Joyce, we stayed in the Italian lakes for our holiday.
We chose the passage from John 3:16-21 for two reasons. It starts with the well-known verse about God’s love for the world – revealed in his Son Jesus which was the message at the heart of Joyce’s life, work, and Ministry. It finishes with the observation that “the honest man comes to the light”. The New English Bible translation of the OT was completed in 1970, and with the New Testament which had been translated earlier, was published in a single volume. Joyce, at home for Christmas that year, gave me, her godson, a copy, inscribed with those words from John 3:21. “the honest man comes to the light”. As an 18 year old, with a scientific bent, and a rebel from Sunday school and church from the age of 10, it was the least inspiring gift that I received that Christmas. It was however prophetic. It came into its own 3 years later when I became a Christian and I used it until the spine disintegrated and the pages started falling out.
In 1983 my wife Jane and I made the trip to HK. It was a real eye-opener. Arriving in the morning after the 15 hour flight, we crashed out on the bed to be woken only a couple of hours later. “Come on, we are going to the opening of a new fly-over”. It seemed a strange thing to be doing. On the fly-over, bereft of traffic, was a speaker’s podium, and some chairs for the audience. As we were ushered to the front row, I realised that we were being treated as guests of honour. The MC welcomed us and introduced Joyce, who spoke mostly in Cantonese before declaring the road open and cutting the ribbon. I began to understand the implications of Joyce being an Unofficial Member of The Legislative Council, and marvelled at her linguistic skill.
While we were in HK, some of the St Catharine’s girls were doing their mock exams. Ever one to make the most of opportunities, Joyce leaned on Jane and me, as impartial native English speakers, to conduct the conversational English oral tests. I am not sure who was the more daunted by the experience, us, or the girls having the test, but I tried my best to be encouraging. The girls did very well.
Talking of leaning, when my photos of the trip were processed later, I found that I had a picture of Joyce, which seemed to capture her. She was standing, leaning slightly forward from the hips, with a purposeful look on her face, and a glint in her eye. She was a woman with a sense of direction, a determination to make a difference, and an impatience to get on with it. The award of the OBE was well-deserved recognition of her service to the colonial administration, and the people, especially the children, of Hong Kong. As her family we are proud to bask in the reflection of her glory.
She then returned to England to be the woman priest that the church would not recognise. Forgive me if, as a Methodist, I have got this wrong, but I was led to believe that the significance of priestly vestments is that they obscure the person wearing them, so that it does not matter who the Eucharistic celebrant is. But when the celebrant was a validly ordained woman, to whom the Church of England had formally decided that there was no theological obstruction, the church saw not the vestments but the woman, and objected. I never understood how Joyce could be so patient, and so obedient to the limitations the English church placed on her, especially in the face of the attitudes and treatment that she received. When I offered her the chance to celebrate communion at a Methodist service in a Methodist church, she declined. The temptation to upset the applecart must have been strong, but her calling was to confront the church in a patient and peaceable way, and her persistence prevailed in the end. She would not let anyone cast doubt on the validity of her priestly ordination, and on matters of principle Joyce was usually right.
Time denies me the opportunity to say more except to say goodbye to the aunt we have loved, respected, and admired, and to salute her faithfulness in the tasks to which she was called. To use one of her own favourite sayings “we think she did rather well”.
My most obvious early memories of Joyce are the occasions when we met her on her return to England, or saw her off as she went back to Hong Kong. She was the aunt who came and went, but mostly wasn’t there because she was in Hong Kong. The separation from family for years at a time was part of the sacrifice which her service in Hong Kong required of both herself and the family.
When she came home, she lived with her parents, who were my grandparents, in Prestwood, and we visited them regularly, every Sunday afternoon, so we saw Joyce frequently, until she went away again.
To a small child the excitement of Joyce’s arrival was in large part due to an expectant curiosity about the exotic gifts which she might have brought with her. A definite favourite for me was the stem ginger in syrup in a Chinese jar. We can now buy it in Tesco’s, but I swear that it doesn’t taste as good without the Chinese jar and the cachet of being a personal import.
Joyce’s return meant slide shows – one slide at a time in an Aldis projector. There were also prints in single film flip folders – standard in Hong Kong but new to us in England. We became familiar with the HK skyline, and new high rise buildings, as well as more rural scenes from the New Territories. But mostly the pictures were of people I didn’t know, and whose connection to Joyce I couldn’t follow, so as a child I found them less than gripping. And Joyce knew so many people! In today’s language, she was very good at networking.
I remember Joyce with her stamp collection spread out across the dining table – a collection rich in stamps from many places across the world, but my brother and I were particularly interested in the early British stamps, and glad to acquire a few duplicates.
The most memorable of Joyce’s departures happened when her return to HK, taking her new car with her, coincided with our family summer holiday. Joyce had bought a Mini, and we had a Mini Traveller. Taking both cars, we crossed the channel in a recycled military transport plane. An overnight train took us to the south of France. We then drove in convoy through the Alps to Genoa in Northern Italy. There we watched as Joyce’s car was lifted off the dockside by crane, and lowered into the hold of her ship. Getting to Hong Kong took rather longer then than today’s flights. After saying goodbye to Joyce, we stayed in the Italian lakes for our holiday.
We chose the passage from John 3:16-21 for two reasons. It starts with the well-known verse about God’s love for the world – revealed in his Son Jesus which was the message at the heart of Joyce’s life, work, and Ministry. It finishes with the observation that “the honest man comes to the light”. The New English Bible translation of the OT was completed in 1970, and with the New Testament which had been translated earlier, was published in a single volume. Joyce, at home for Christmas that year, gave me, her godson, a copy, inscribed with those words from John 3:21. “the honest man comes to the light”. As an 18 year old, with a scientific bent, and a rebel from Sunday school and church from the age of 10, it was the least inspiring gift that I received that Christmas. It was however prophetic. It came into its own 3 years later when I became a Christian and I used it until the spine disintegrated and the pages started falling out.
In 1983 my wife Jane and I made the trip to HK. It was a real eye-opener. Arriving in the morning after the 15 hour flight, we crashed out on the bed to be woken only a couple of hours later. “Come on, we are going to the opening of a new fly-over”. It seemed a strange thing to be doing. On the fly-over, bereft of traffic, was a speaker’s podium, and some chairs for the audience. As we were ushered to the front row, I realised that we were being treated as guests of honour. The MC welcomed us and introduced Joyce, who spoke mostly in Cantonese before declaring the road open and cutting the ribbon. I began to understand the implications of Joyce being an Unofficial Member of The Legislative Council, and marvelled at her linguistic skill.
While we were in HK, some of the St Catharine’s girls were doing their mock exams. Ever one to make the most of opportunities, Joyce leaned on Jane and me, as impartial native English speakers, to conduct the conversational English oral tests. I am not sure who was the more daunted by the experience, us, or the girls having the test, but I tried my best to be encouraging. The girls did very well.
Talking of leaning, when my photos of the trip were processed later, I found that I had a picture of Joyce, which seemed to capture her. She was standing, leaning slightly forward from the hips, with a purposeful look on her face, and a glint in her eye. She was a woman with a sense of direction, a determination to make a difference, and an impatience to get on with it. The award of the OBE was well-deserved recognition of her service to the colonial administration, and the people, especially the children, of Hong Kong. As her family we are proud to bask in the reflection of her glory.
She then returned to England to be the woman priest that the church would not recognise. Forgive me if, as a Methodist, I have got this wrong, but I was led to believe that the significance of priestly vestments is that they obscure the person wearing them, so that it does not matter who the Eucharistic celebrant is. But when the celebrant was a validly ordained woman, to whom the Church of England had formally decided that there was no theological obstruction, the church saw not the vestments but the woman, and objected. I never understood how Joyce could be so patient, and so obedient to the limitations the English church placed on her, especially in the face of the attitudes and treatment that she received. When I offered her the chance to celebrate communion at a Methodist service in a Methodist church, she declined. The temptation to upset the applecart must have been strong, but her calling was to confront the church in a patient and peaceable way, and her persistence prevailed in the end. She would not let anyone cast doubt on the validity of her priestly ordination, and on matters of principle Joyce was usually right.
Time denies me the opportunity to say more except to say goodbye to the aunt we have loved, respected, and admired, and to salute her faithfulness in the tasks to which she was called. To use one of her own favourite sayings “we think she did rather well”.