|
|
|
|
Reminiscences by Marina Stajic It is always with a heavy heart that we say goodbye to dear friends. There is, however, a certain sense of comfort when the departed friend lived a long, healthy life. Gertrude H. Mahoney—Elsie Cubitt to ASH—died on May 18. She was 95. Until just a few months ago, Gertrude lived in her own apartment, in good health, completely self sufficient. She continued to enjoy what she loved most: her children, grand children and great grand children; dolls, dollhouses, miniatures (she helped found the National Association of Miniature Enthusiasts in 1971), and last, but not least Sherlock Holmes and Sherlockians. Gertrude and I joined the Red Circle around the same time in 1978. She became an instant friends and adopted Sherlockian mother to many of us. I don’t know if I would be standing here today if it wasn’t for Gertrude. Not only did she introduce me to ASH during the 1979 spring dinner, she also acquired a set of Edwardian underwear and somehow got me to model the same at the 1980 January dinner. Even though Gertrude stopped her intensive travel after she turned eighty, she always loved a good gossip and her interest for things Sherlockian never faded. Nor did her grand sense of humor and of curiosity. The latter may help explain one of her greatest adventures. Gertrude was well into her seventies when she surprised a burglar in the kitchen of her son's house in Washington. He fled, she called 911 and went outside to see which way he went. Unfortunately, he had a gun, and shot her, grazing her arm. "But it's only a flesh wound," she explained to the paramedics who were insisting that she go to the hospital, "and I've never had a chance to watch the police investigate a crime scene." May her memory always be green. A most gracious lady, a great friend - Gertrude Mahoney! Editor’s note: Thanks also go to Peter Blau for information used above and Martha Irish, who sent us the following anecdote: Gertrude never lost her sense of humor, not even at the end. Last Mother’s Day, the restaurant where I had lunch gave flowers to all the women. I decided to take mine—a red one—to Gertrude. On the way, I tried to remember the old tradition—you wore a red flower if your mother was living, a white one if she was deceased. Or was it the reverse? When I arrived at Gertrude’s, I held up the flower for her to smell (her sight was almost completely gone). Without prompting, she recited the tradition about the flowers—red for the living, white for the deceased—and quipped, “But for me, you’d better wear pink because I’m halfway in between.” She died six days later. The Serpentine Muse is copyrighted by the Adventuresses of Sherlock Holmes, and written permission must be obtained for reproduction of an article in another publication or website. Contact the Webmistress at mmckayATL@comcast.net |
|
GERTRUDE H. MAHONEY, ASH