Perhaps it has something to do with my own superannuated state, but it seems as though even those older than I, when they finally ride on ahead and cross the shining river, are struck down in their prime. In writing an encomium, does this bit of tongue in cheek seem lacking in gravity? It isn’t meant to, but rather my attempt to pen something I think might appeal to Mary Cosh, someone I’ve thought a lot of for very many years- and out of sight for very many years, but never out of mind- and sorry to find she’s died last December at age 100.
A near neighbor when we lived in Islington, the borough in London just to the north of the City, she became my acquittance through our mutual interest in the amenity society The Georgian Group. During my time as an employee, though my ostensible title was archivist, I was unpaid and spent my time beavering away, organizing box files of casework documents, covering, it seems, the whole built environment of England and Wales. The Georgian Group’s brief then as now was the licensed consultancy for Georgian architecture- be it terrace house or stately home, even a garden feature constructed between 1714 and 1837 was part of its remit. The group itself was only formed in 1937, so organizing these box files was not precisely cleaning the Augean stables, but it seemed a big job of work to me.
Seeing Mary Cosh, though, was always a delight, and I did so frequently once we found we were neighbours. Her history of our own borough of Islington was well underway when I met her, with parts of it already published in various journals. She was a caution- outspoken but always with a twinkle, very bright, but with a gaudy past. I often met Mary at the Canonbury Square flat of our mutual friend, the artist Sebastian Minton and on one occasion, I happened to mention how I had heard Bloomsbury artist Duncan Grant had maintained a studio nearby. ‘Oh he did, indeed. It was a slum then, you know. I posed for him frequently, and a couple of times with the boys he had.’ Really? ‘Oh, yes. Nude you see. It never bothered me, they were all queer and knew nothing would come of it.’
Sebastian and Mary were nearly always on members days out with The Georgian Group and beyond this were inveterate visitors to stately homes. When I knew them, Sebastian being perhaps older- though I’m not certain of this- was not terrifically steady on his pins. Mary though had a car and was yet driving and with Sebastian collected, the two of them would regularly make their way into the countryside. Sebastian was likewise possessed of an exhaustive knowledge particularly of Canonbury, and with his past with gaudy elements, too, imagine that he always had plenty to talk about with Mary.
Of course, it makes me sad to think Mary is gone from us, Sebastian, too, but I have to say, it was a privilege to know her. I plan to immediately reread Mary’s History of Islington. Though perhaps a wistful occupation in this time of sheltering in place, I’ll train my focus on how I enjoyed living in the borough, and how I enjoyed my fortunate acquaintance with Mary Cosh.