Eleanor Stanier was my dear godmother. She was my mother's oldest friend: they went to school together in Oxford when they were three.  We have a sweet photo of a string of little children walking along with their teacher, all holding on to a rope to stop them from straying, like a string of beans.  Eleanor and my mother are there, in funny little hats and boots, tiny and sweet.  Many years later, when I was born in 1971, my mother's first child, my mother gave me Eleanor as my godmother.  

For my christening, Eleanor gave me a silver locket on a black ribbon.  I remember being intrigued by it when I was a little girl: it was solid and smooth, and you could open it up and put a photo inside it.

Eleanor was the most wonderfully kind and conscientious godmother.  She never failed to send me birthday cards and presents, even during my adult years, and for this I am extremely touched and grateful.  Despite my leading a chaotic and peripatetic life, she never neglected to send me presents care of my parents, and I always felt remembered. It gave me a sense of mooring and stability.
When I was a teenager, Eleanor took me to the theatre.  I remember she invited me up to London to go the National Theatre, which was hugely exciting and grand.  I think it must have been the first time I went to London on my own.  I clearly remember her giving me a tour: we drove through central London, Eleanor pointing out famous sights, and telling me all about the history with great ease and enthusiasm.  It was a window onto a different world, one that I had only had snatches of. On another occasion, in Oxford, we went to see 'Rozencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead'.  These were such positive experiences. It was great to go with Eleanor because I always had the sense that she enjoyed the productions so much: she was always engaging and engaged.  I also remember how she visited Helen House in Oxford, where her niece was looked after in the 1980s.

In 1999, Eleanor came to visit me in Sarajevo, where I was working.  It was so enterprising of her. She came on her own, and was happy to stay in a rather makeshift arrangement in my rented one-bedroom flat.  I remember being concerned that she wouldn't be comfortable, but she had no hesitation.  When she was with me, she was wonderfully independent, utterly outgoing and interested in her surroundings, as ever.  She wandered around the old town on her own and she took a tour of the tunnel under the airport that the Bosnians dug during the siege - something I was always too scared to do.  She was wonderful company, and my friends, far better than me at talking about politics and history, loved meeting her.  Later she gave me, sweetly, and in true Eleanor style, a small photo album with photos from her visit, usefully labelled.  It is a super memento.

When I was young, I remember thinking it slightly strange that Eleanor was a grown-up learning the piano. Now, taking out my flute again, and very old myself, I think how wonderful and laudable!  I love her positive, can-do attitude!  

I feel blessed to have had such a wonderfully outgoing, intelligent, open-minded, kind and vivacious person as my godmother. I regret that I was so wrapped up in my own concerns for many years that I was not very much in touch; I am ever grateful to Eleanor that she nevertheless was.  She was part of the architecture of my life, and I will remember her always, with great fondness.


Sophie H F Martin, 31 January, 2024.