Paul:  I look at Sarah’s photo and that is how I remember her. She was 49 and in her prime - confident, articulate, able to mix with everyone, proud of her son, Tom, whose graduation we were attending.  She was full of love - the word which best describes her life.
Love of:  Family, on both M and F side; of friends old and new; of her Mum who she cared for for many years; and, of course, T.J.T. and F and me.
Love of: of seeking the truth and her ability to handle it - of accuracy, honour.
Love of: England - (not the flag waving kind) but of its countryside, seascape, culture, language, literature and music.
Love of: Culture generally - language, words (used properly); literature - novels, plays and poetry (literally from A to Z - Austen to Zephaniah); painting; sculpture; drawing; drama (on the West End stage in 1992 as Ophelia - reduced Shakespeare company!); T.V and radio.  And she was good at these too (writing, painting, drawing, acting {stretch marks at college}, pastiche and parody {copying styles and sentiments - country and western songs, poems,}; her creative writing MA pieces - 6 fairytales and 6 stories of women.
Love of: books, particularly children’s literature and her broad and deep knowledge of them. 
Love of: fun, humour, laughter (Brian and Diane), practical jokes played on me at work (pizza/Karen and valentine bouquet at the Swan in Wells). 
Love of: story-telling, particularly to her grandchildren Tilly and Florrie.


Love of: conversation: talking, listening, exploring, learning, challenging, criticising, arguing (great memory for detail as I frequently found to my cost!).
Sarah was rich in love.
She spent it freely - the more she spent, the richer she became.
She enriched the lives of many people and we may draw on that wealth of love when we remember her.
What survives of her is love.
































Tom Briggs:  No anecdote or story can fully do you justice. 
I’ll remember the cannonballs and buckshot teas (fish cake and baked beans), making snowmen in the garden, lullabies at bed times, chocolate ring doughnuts on the way home from Sainsbury’s (packaging chucked in a kerb side bin before we got home and dad rumbled us). 


Then, late night chats until 1am, shared laughs at in-jokes, collections from town after a drink or two. Graduation week in St Andrews with grandma, the pride you felt and the stunning upgraded suite you had overlooking the 18th Green! Sorry Phil! 


Later, tapas on the first night you properly met Jess and how you hated being called Mrs Briggs!.  Helping us clean our filthy first house in London, the first time you met Tilly, and then Florrie and all the love you gave them - the girls you always wanted! The stories you told the girls of your adventures and they way they hung on your every word. The worry you had about jetty jumping for them, at 5 and 6 the same as for me at 37. The beautiful paintings of childhood heroes they have hanging on their walls - a timeless reminder of your artistic skill. The lock-down drawings (sorry for the unicorn on a unicycle on a tightrope crossing a gorge - it looked spot on!) that kept you in touch while we all stayed away. Time that now seems so cruelly taken. 
I’m sorry that you’ll miss them growing, but I thank that you knew them so well, and loved them and all of us so much. 
Audrey Strachan: when Sarah was to become a Grandmother for the first time I made her a quilt to celebrate the birth.  The fabric pieces had many characters on it and Sarah immediately began to give them roles in a story.  I can picture her now, elaborating on the role each character would play and how they would develop.  We laughed as this vivid story grew and grew from its beginning through to its end.  There is nothing I can say as indicative of Sarah’s personality: her imagination, great sense of humour and ability to articulate so clearly her thoughts.






























Auntie Ann:  Sarah was a girl of love and understanding, always ready to join in any fun and games.


The one thing nobody could match was her fruit cake, that was the best ever. Paul yours is good but not 10/10 just yet “keep trying” 


Sarah you are a bright shining star and you will be missed for ever by us all. “ 
































Cousin Rachel: This happened when Sarah would have been 13-14
Aunty Jean had picked up Mum, myself and probably Rob as well so we could all go and see Nana and Grandad.  Sarah had already gone into Bath to the library and was to wait to be picked up on our way through. I spotted her immediately, she was sitting on the railings at the end of Pulteney Street her thick dark curly hair and the cord jacket with sheepskin collar was the envy of my eye. She just looked so cool and “with it” she had style in spades and oozed a confidence which at that age was incredible. While most teenagers grunt and look at their feet Sarah faced the world with a very adult eye. 




Cousin Rachel:  Uncle Cyril had sold the side garden of their house in Gainsborough Gardens to a builder who promptly built a house.


Sarah had the bedroom on that side of the house with “envy of my eye” an ensuite.  One morning she undressed to have a shower, only to find she was on full view to the builders, who with a chorus of whoops and whistles forced her to make an undignified fall to the floor and crawl back to her bed. 








Dianne, Brian and Family:  Well Sarah, having been your neighbours for 40 years. I guess the greatest thing to say is thank you for being a wonderful and supportive friend throughout the whole time we have known you, we have only happy thoughts and memories of sharing the growing up of our children and even the sharing of friends. Happy times and sad times, but never a cross word. We will miss your wit which has always left us in moments of laughter. I guess the most recent event sums up the relationship we shared when a few weeks ago as you stood on your drive explaining how much weight you had lost, your skirt suddenly fell freely to your feet. Quick as a flash you said “I know we are friends, but I hadn’t realised we were that friendly yet”.  Thank you for a cherished friendship that will continue for a lifetime.






















Dave Kelshall: ‘One story that comes to mind about Sarah was when she told me she went to a Poetry club. She clearly didn’t like anything pretentious.


She said it was mega cringe. One by one people in the group would stand up and share their made up Poem. She said it was the usual stuff.  “The nightly owl cordoned down on its prey, the dark skies grow. And winter is still” etc etc etc. then the group would clap. Next person gets up and says theirs.


Then Sarah said one woman stood up and totally seriously said hers which was “fuck.. (pause) fuck.. (pause) fuck.. fuck.. repeat x 4”.  Sarah couldn’t help but laugh and everyone just started clapping at how amazing it was. 
























Linda Gorsuch:  I first met Sarah when she joined CBGS (City of Bath Girls School) and she soon became a true friend and was always great company.  Sarah was a very special woman.  I loved her sense of humour, unique style and down to earth view of life, although we didn’t always agree on politics!  She put everyone before herself and was wise beyond her years and always had time to listen and share a happy moment, a joke or a sad event giving help, support and always seeking the positive in everything. She was very creative and artistic with her writing and often sent little cards and notes beautifully illustrated, which are now even more precious.  


I have lots of happy memories of Sarah - every time I see a Ladybird book I smile at the thought of her huge prized collection, the photos of a shared holiday in Monmouth with Jane and Emma and her smile of delight when at lockdown we sang Christmas carols in her front garden, to name just a few. She was a beautiful soul so no wonder we all have wonderful memories of her and they will last forever. I am grateful to have had her friendship, she will be sorely missed.










Emma Searle:  It’s not easy to capture Sarah’s indomitable spirit and essence in a few words but here goes!  Sarah was my very dear friend for over 50 years, a friend who never failed me, never let me down, who was fearless, generous, occasionally brutally honest (when I needed to be told!), but always a delight to know and a joy to spend time with.  As teenagers we shared illicit cigarettes and boyfriend hopes, as adults we shared our thoughts, dreams, sorrows and ideas (and Sarah was never short of ideas and inventions!).  I miss Sarah’s wisdom, her kindness, her wit and her friendship.  I miss Sarah’s food!  (She was an amazing and generous hostess!)  I miss Sarah being at the end of the phone, I miss having a coffee or a glass of wine with her.  I miss laughing with her.  I loved Sarah, I miss Sarah and will never forget her.






















Lynn Wooton:  Sarah and I knew each other since we were 8 years old. Her style of handwriting was my fault. Her father made her copy my handwriting as he preferred it to hers and I apologised to her more than once for this. Actually, her version of my handwriting was far better than mine ever has been. 


One of the teachers at our primary school called us the 'terrible twins' - not because we were terrible but because we were inseparable. Even though we saw less of each other as we got older, that friendship was always there and is something that I have, and always will cherish. 


























Chloe Palmer:  My fondest memories of my auntie Sarah are Christmas. Growing up we would spend every boxing day with Auntie Sarah, Uncle Paul, Tom and Grandma. I will always remember the Christmas tree, the beautifully wrapped presents and food, all arranged primarily by my auntie. It was always a special occasion and the main time we would spend time together as a family. She would always make it memorable. 


My auntie always encouraged me to be an independent woman. It has influenced how I have progressed in life and the kindness she shown me has determined how I then have behaved with my nieces and nephews. She will be greatly missed
























Jane and Bob Tucker:  Sarah always made you feel special - she was elegant, refined (grape scissors!), a gifted orator (Tena Lady song!) and a true friend. Always the ‘hostess with the mostess’ she was great fun to be with and alongside Paul, the most entertaining double act to while away an afternoon or evening over the odd bottle of wine (maybe two!).


Also a talented artist - she painted our much loved cow portrait which hangs on the landing looking out over the fields. ‘Gertrude’ is the first thing I pass in the morning and the last at night - and like Sarah she always makes me smile.  We have all been blessed to have her in our lives.
Phil Hood:  I knew Sarah  for nearly 50 years.


In fact she was Sarah Sharpe when we met very apt that Sharpe by name and Sharpe by nature she missed very little. My late wife Alison and I introduced Sarah to Paul on September 26th 1975 and they clearly got on quite well.


Sarah was a dear friend for all our years together, our families shared the most amazing times: we holidayed, celebrated birthdays, Christmases; so many occasions there are just too many to mention. She was so important to us we named our daughter after her.  Those of you who knew Alison will probably recall she did not say sorry very often; incredibly, after Sarah was at home following surgery, she quite rightly admonished Alison for not seeing her. This ended up with Alison bringing her a cake inside a box marked ‘Humble Pie’. Much closer to an apology than I ever got!  


Sarah saw me through Alison’s illness and death, hers, Paul’s and Tom’s kindness will never be forgotten by me and mine.


When Debbie and I got together, she allowed a new friend into her life, never judged us and the four of us became lifelong friends as it has turned out. 




Sarah was fun, loving, articulate, intelligent, formidable, and fiercely defensive over what she felt was just.  Her command of language and need for correct grammar was immense, so much so I can feel her now on my shoulder doing a check on my script. 


I have many stories I would love to recount.  However, Debbie has banned me from telling them now.  You knew Sarah so I am sure you will realise the content is mostly X-rated. 


I will miss our debates and heated discussions; she was always a tough challenge especially in recent years as she would use the internet in fact check every point I made. However, too many times she used The Guardian as her source - so that didn’t count.


My abiding memory will be how she, Paul and Tom enabled Alison to have one final holiday together on a boat in France. she literally watched a dear friend getting a little closer to dying each day of that trip. She did it for Alison, me and our kids because that’s what Alison wanted. This act of kindness is beyond any words I could speak.


Rest in peace Sarah, Debbie and I and our family will treasure your memory.  To quote Sarah‘s words to me from a few years back:  ‘you were too old to die young’ - we are so sad that you had to prove yourself right.
Auntie Gill:  Sarah lived with her Mum and Dad at Bannerdown.  My husband Keith and I went to plant a market garden we had in Bannerdown and took our children - Anne, John and Peter, for a sleepover at Sarah’s house.  Sarah’s bedroom was being decorated and the old wallpaper stripped.  The children found this very adventurous so they joined in.  The next day they thought they’d help again and went into the bedroom they were staying in and started to peel the wallpaper off their wall.  They didn’t do much of course but enough to be a nuisance. Sarah’s Mum, my sister, Jean thought it was so funny at the time - not that l did as it was hard work getting it looking tidy again!  Darling Sarah l blamed you of course for getting them into mischief - only loosely though as that is children for you!


Sarah, you were so lovely to me over the years and I loved you for it. I am going to miss you more than any words can say. 


















Karen Avent:  One day in the 1990s Sarah and I were sitting at a table, when we both noticed a wonky bit of skirting-board next to us.

“That bit’s been skrewed askew,” said Sarah.
“That sounds like a Scandinavian name,” said I.


And so Skruda Skiu was born. She was a gloomy Swedish poet, specialising in unremittingly gloomy poems - written in English, thank goodness. She became real to us; we often mentioned her, especially in bad or annoying situations, wondering aloud “What would Skruda make of this?” 


Well, it dawned on us one day that we had never seen any of Skruda’s  poems; so we thought we’d better write some. They were all dark and miserable, always about winter and how she liked its cold misery. Thankfully, they were all very short!  We took to writing them out on small pieces of paper and leaving them on trains: Bath to London; London to Holyhead - and back again. Sadly, we never knew how they were received.


After that, Skruda stopped writing. There were only so many “how-I-love-doom-&-gloom poems. And frankly, we got quite annoyed with her for making us unnecessarily miserable. Over the years, she did crop up from time to time.  Poignantly, the Tuesday evening before Sarah’s death, Sarah looked at me and said:  “Oh Karen. What would Skruda have made of all this?”
Angela and Ian Morgan-Cutler:  The first time we met you, Sarah, was twenty four years ago at a birthday party arranged for Ian. And from that moment we became close. The happiest memories are of us opening the front door to greet you and Paul, or you welcoming us into your home. Staying over for leisurely weekends. The anticipation of arrival. Sharing news. All the while watching Tom grow up and get married and becoming a dad. And from then on how much you always loved to include us in that by showing us photographs of Tilly and Flo and would say: I can’t help it, aren’t they so beautiful.


Such visits were always abundant with bagfuls of gifts for the other, at one point there was a basket we’d exchange, so the person visiting would fill the basket with whatever gifts. And we’d sit and share them out as if each visit was Christmas — and we know you loved Christmas. The respective feasts laid out at each visit. Always there would be platters of cold meats, and all manner of cheeses and a variety of Paul’s home made bread for lunch. Red wine, back in the days when we could all still tolerate it! Often for the evening or for Sunday lunch, the signature lamb dishes we both liked to cook for each other. Your tapas, presented in small earthenware dishes, one dish after another arriving from the kitchen to the table, each made with such attention and always your enthusiasm to spoil us.




Such meals that would be followed up with home made desserts such as your pear and ginger cake trifle. In the summer we’d eat outside, sit around talking until it became dark. The tables, inside or out, would always be awash with candles.


You and Paul were always so loving and close and we loved listening to the banter and teasing between you from the kitchen while dinner was being prepared. In the evening you’d snuggle up on the sofa together while we’d chat or watch a film and Paul would rub your feet. Your affection for each other seemed as fresh as it always was.


As impossible as it seems that you won’t come to our home again, you will always be present there and a part of our life going forward because good friends shape who we are, they help you keep going, they put a smile on your face, and give you strength and encouragement through adversity, and you have given us this in bucket-fulls these last years especially.


We loved you for always being so completely authentic. For never being superficial or saying the obvious. We loved you for your distinct voice, whether it be the literal timbre of your speaking voice — its elegance — cheekiness — or your own writing voice, infectious love of language and stories. Also, your wonderful drawings — we especially loved those of your Mum and three aunts.
We loved you for your fierce opinions and sense of compassion and social justice, your healthy cynicism (maybe after all you were this one true female cynic we were searching for and joked that we couldn’t find!), your way of cutting through the crap and nonsense was always so refreshing. But mostly we loved you for your humour because you always were such fun. Even on the last FaceTime we had, you were making the abject side of your illness into a sketch between you and Paul and making us laugh. So quickly saying: Don’t talk about me — that’s enough of that — now tell me what’s been happening to you. You really knew how to do friendship — how to listen. You knew how to love up our sons with thoughtfulness and so much interest in them and everything they did, and praise for their efforts. Buying them special gifts too, and when they were young what became the iconic pop tarts for breakfast.


Even when you were unwell you had such dignity, you and Paul had an incredible closeness that was so moving, so respectful, and always making time to reach out and share these last days with others. The image of your girls wheeling gran around the hospice garden, or the joyous note from you saying that you and Paul had enjoyed some special hours in the garden and were now going back to Madeira cake and tea. You even transformed this into an infamous Proustian moment — so much so our own minds watered and lit up at the image of a simple slice of cake made into something arresting and something that won’t now be forgotten.
We are glad you and Paul had that time together, even though there can never be enough time with you. The great respect you and Paul had for each other shone through especially in those last days — and how facing it all as you did with such honesty, head on, meant — or seemed to us — that you both found such meaning, living fully moment to moment, each day to the end.


We are blessed by all these memories and times we shared over decades.  Hugs and kisses always our beautiful Sarah who we will never forget.




























Max Morgan-Cutler:  Like most of my mother and father’s friends, I have known Paul and Sarah since — actually perhaps it's better to say they have known me since, as I don't remember them entering my life, they were just always there.


I always remember pulling up across the driveway of their house, my head had to stretch a little then to see out of car windows. Beyond the front lawn was a neat house, that was indescribably Paul and Sarah, maybe like driving into a postcard from the 60s but not so lurid. The sight of it, even now in my memory, still makes my stomach grumble for nuts, nibbles, cheeses and meats laid about on pristine glass tables like an Easter egg hunt to something more substantial emanating from the oven in the kitchen.


And Sarah, no matter how I grew, she still will always tower in my memory. However I'd busy into a room, I'd always slow down for Sarah, she made sure of it. Shoes were off, hugs were given and a gentle arm on the back, you'd follow her into whichever room she went.


The memories of these visits seemed ageless. Old enough in ill-fitting hoodie and jeans, I was allowed a small glass of wine with my meal, putting on my grown up voice to match Sarah in effortless sophistication. Later to be sat in the lounge like a dog at her feet while she watched over me playing with her trunk of Playmobil. I wager these weren't the same visit.
I will always remember the way she sat. While everyone retired into their chairs, Sarah stayed tall, deftly balanced at the edge of the sofa somehow oblique to everyone, never directly facing you. She was a Greco Roman marble in a museum but as approachable and warm as an apple pie on the window sill.


She was like a therapist. Not in a literal sense, or maybe exactly in a literal sense in that she was just therapeutic to talk to. So engaged in what you were saying, from her face to her thoughts, she just made you feel good.


You know that dreaded scenario everyone in this room has surely found themselves faced with. When two people ask you a question at the same time. What a car crash! Uncomfortable to go through as it is to witness. Who do you answer first? Your head swinging about back and forth like a ping pong ball.  I can imagine Sarah, unwavering with head, confidentially pausing as if in thought: "Both excellent questions. Well boys, I can tell you this." Then somehow miraculously intertwining both questions into one answer.
She was graceful, the way she set her glass on the table, She was scampy, the way she snorted when she laughed, she was stoic and she was sensitive, and she was lots of fun.


Sarah was lots of things I'm sure to lots of people. The main and last thought I will always remember about Sarah is what she was for me, and that was encouraging.
Everything we did me and my brother, she always showed an unnecessary amount of interest, whether a drawing, story, or a bad joke, she would always be tub-thumping with such zeal at the end of the table that I would be thinking of the next thing I could run off to create.


As a creative person, and a small one back then, I can say that was meat and drink to me. I hope every child has someone like that in their lives too. Even now while I imagine reading this out to her, then setting it down, I can hear her say, clear as day: "Oh Paul, wasn't that just wonderful."






















Colin Edwards:  I have so many good memories of the large contribution Sarah made to life at Newton Park.  There were many good times - on field trips, on stage - outside of the academic work!  What a wonderfully generous presence Sarah brought with her, to other students and to those lucky enough to teach her.  Ros and I were so touched by sarah’s (characteristic) warmth to us at the time our daughter, Isobel, arrived.  I will always be grateful for her goodness and warmth of heart.






























Nick Sharpe:  You’d think, wouldn’t you, that Sarah and I have been bosom pals as cousins for all our lives? Nothing could be further from the truth. I must have been about 3 or 4 before I even knew I had a Cousin Sarah, and I’m almost sure a picture sent to Gran from Malta, at 7, St. Lukes Road, shown to me on one of our rare visits to Bath, would be my first awareness of her. A trip up from Wimborne to Bath at 30 miles an hour in an Austin 7 was a major excursion back in the days of motoring. A successful trip would be having only one puncture on the way or overheating and needing more water for the radiator only on the uphill sections, of which there are many around Warminster. But what did a picture of a cousin mean to a 3-year-old? Jean and Cyril lived on Malta, so it would be some years yet before Sarah and I would meet. 


And I know when that would be. We again traveled to Bath to meet Jean, Cyril and Sarah, probably before Helen’s arrival (?), when they came back from Malta. I’m almost sure they had a hotel near the Toll bridge at Batheastern, until Jean and Cyril found a house. 


Thereafter, we’d see the Bath Sharpes on Boxing Day visits, often with Audrey and Bill, either in Wimborne or Bath. As children we were much more focused on Aunts and Uncles than each other as cousins, since Tim and I were boys, and Sarah and Helen girls. Sarah, I now know, really loved my Mum. There was a real bond between them, since Mum could see Sarah was withdrawn as a child and got her to feel more confident in herself. So that was the school years, followed by university for me and leaving home and my first marriage in Manchester which took me off the family scene for many years.  
So it was well after Sarah had met Paul that we began to have any proper contact. A pint in a pub when ‘passing’ Bath on the way to Manchester. Those were Sarah’s ‘white sweater days’ – Cyril’s winter commando sweater. And Tom will surely confirm that I had little contact with you all in all the time he grew up.


There then followed the funeral years. Auntie Molly, (Phil’s wife), Uncle Ralph, (my Dad), then my Mum, Auntie Eileen, Uncle Phil, Uncle Cyril and Auntie Audrey, and my brother, Tim, all died within a decade or two, leaving Uncle Bill and Sarah’s Mum Jean of that generation. This left Sarah and Paul with the arrangements when Bill fell ill and died, since I was in Denmark. Sarah showed what she was made of when nursing Bill, a lovely, funny man when he was good, but bl... difficult when he was ill. And it’s this period when Sarah, Paul and I finally, ‘through needs must’, began to have more time together. Visits to Bath to stay with Sarah and Paul, either when I was on business trips to the UK, or with Berith and Kathrine on holiday, followed too. There was a special snuggle spot for Kathrine under Sarah’s wing…. with Harry Potter, Tolkien, Ladybird and children’s book collection and all.  
Paul would make tea and platefuls of food, allowing Sarah and I to talk through the night, swapping memories of grandparents, childhood, cousins, aunts and uncles, and all that life had brought us. We had so much to fill in for each other, and we weren’t finished! But at least we did get the chance so much later in life. Sarah was so like Gran, Honour Sharpe, and Auntie Audrey. Saints and Angels, all 3.  Never a thought for themselves, always others first. Meek? No. Slings and arrows they could take – if launched against themselves, -- but heaven help any that launched them against their friends or family.  
I shall miss you so much, Sarah, but treasure all that I have of you. Once Jean died, I was hoping Sarah would write that book which was bubbling in her (I don’t know what it was about), get out more, travel, visit us in Denmark, and above all else, watch Tilly and Flo blossom. I know how much she will be missed by Tom, Jess, Tilly and Flo, and Helen and family too. 
In short, I’m trying to say that I only knew Sarah as ‘Sarah and Paul’, though I do know all about the ‘block off which she was chipped’. So if you younger folk need family history, then now’s the time! I know how it is to think, ‘I should have asked Dad, Cyril, Audrey, about so and so and such and such’.
Paul, you were everything Sarah ever wanted. And that was when she was being as selfish as she could muster! 
I’m gutted I can’t be with you today, and Berith, Kathrine, Oliver, Jonas and I have you all in our thoughts. 


All our Love.  We’ll meet again…..   Nick.   XXXXX