Sheila Natusch

Après no ordinary funeral…

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Stokes: Everyone had a different story about her. It wasn’t just that Sheila was a good listener, she pointed out different things to everyone.

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Hansard: I asked her about learning to write. She suggested E.M. Forster.

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Stokes: Interesting suggestion. They were on opposite sides of the world.

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Hansard: But they shared a style, a voice, a view of the world. A declaration followed by a delicate explanation.

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Stokes: Like surprises in a garden. In the middle of a herb garden filled with scents and wings, a rose.

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Hansard: She also did conversations.

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Stokes: Some. Forster was master of those clipped English exchanges. He was a novelist. She was a naturalist, a historian.

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Hansard: Mmm. His were word sketches of people talking in rooms. She described species and events through people. Writers whose insights sprang from twinkling intellects.

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Voice-over

Waving

Delicate of speech and writing, speaking half a dozen languages, yet even in her 80s would plunge in the cold Wellington seas for a swim every morning. Shelley-like, sailing her tiny boat up and down the waves reenacting shore landings of pioneers. Growing and knowing even the Latin names of plants in hers and others gardens. Amazing person, seeing good in everyone.

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