[From Arthur]

As a Canadian, Joyce was a loyal supporter of Queen Elizabeth II and went to great lengths to attend her coronation in 1953.  In 2002, the Queen chose words from a poem, called “Remember me”, written by David Harkins, as preface for the Order of Service read at the funeral of the Queen Mother, also named Elizabeth.

“You can shed tears that she is gone, or you can smile because she has lived.

You can close your eyes and pray that she’ll come back, or you can open your eyes and see all she’s left.

Your heart can be empty because you can’t see her, or you can be full of the love you shared.

You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday, or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday.

You can remember her only that she is gone, or you can cherish her memory and let it live on.

You can cry and close your mind, be empty and turn your back.

Or you can do what she’d want: smile, open your eyes, love and go on”

Driving home in a yellow car from summer day camp with my Mom on her birthday where she was the camp nurse, I said something silly about the play Romeo and Juliet. She laughed a dancing laugh. She said what she liked about me most was that I could make her laugh. One of my favorite things about my Mom was her laughter, which was almost childlike at times. My mom was adventure, energy,  intelligence, and caring.

My Mom sought out adventure. We went together on many a road trip in the 60’s and 70’s, she and my two brothers, anywhere within 500 miles of NY that a Volkswagen Fastback or a AMC Hornet woody could take us. One of her favorite destinations was Toronto, Canada, her home base as a young Canadian girl.  Here’s her maple leaf. We would pile in the car, drive north 300 miles each August to see Joy Laplant and crazy Jerry who sometimes thought he was Jesus Christ and their Dalmatian named Dice in Scarborough. Joy and Joyce were friends for over 60 years.

Mom would take us via Torona Go train to the Canadian National Exposition to climb on the rides, scorching in the August sun, and the Ontario Science Center, which did Science in a hands-on way which we all adored. Joyce took us once for week to the high lakes of rural Ontario to stay in a cabin, which helped start my fascination with the great outdoors of the North. One night she took us to the Stratford Ontario Shakespeare festival, where we saw the A Midsummer Night’s Dream under the stars, which began in me that night a deep love of the Bard. She would take us to roaring Niagara Falls on the way to Toronto -- never on the way back -- because on the way back she’d had enough of adventures with three boisterous male children, and the last 6 hours of the drive would always be bat-out-of-hell for the Scarsdale Tudor house with her often turning around and shouting into the back seat “I-am -never- taking-you-three- on-any-trip-again- as-long-as-i-live.” This gruffness would last maybe a month, till the adventure bug would kick in again with her, and we’d be off on a trip to Colonial Williamsburg or the Danbury Fair or the baby gorilla farm at the Bronx zoo or Jones Beach, wherever her heart would lead us next.

Maybe a first big adventure of her life was leaving her home in Canada, and moving to Baltimore as a young single nurse in the ‘50’s. She traveled the world as a cruise ship nurse, but changing countries and leaving the Queen she loved was huge. How hard to leave her country of birth, and come alone as an immigrant to America. It makes me feel a kinship to the immigrants of today who seek America in the 21st century as my Mom sought in the 20th, to have the adventure of a fresh start in a new land, far away for the from the Ontario Salvation Army rigors she was raised with. Sometimes I wonder if she ran off to the States to escape her family business of saving souls for the Salvation Army, to free her to use her intelligence and gifts at savings lives.

My Mom was full of energy and intelligence. One of her favorite activities when I was growing up was synchronized swimming at the YWCA, she would swim there while I was taking acting lessons. Mon would also take us skiing in the winter in Vermont or Snowmass. She would march in parades with the scouts and the Scarsdale Volunteer Ambulance Corps every year and would help us raise the colors each Memorial Day of her adopted country. Raising 3 boys only 18 months apart was clearly a high energy sport also. So was making every Christmas special for our family. Mom ensured that when we went to sleep on Xmas eve, after a few carols, after a recitation of the Night Before Xmas, that though there was nothing under the tree on that night, that no matter how early we’d awake and xmas day, Santa would fill that space with a cornucopia -- and the reindeer’s carrots would be eaten. She’d be there watching us open our gifts in a fuzzy pink robe, while she’d voraciously consume a novel; she loved big thick ones like Exodus by Leon Uris, The Agony and the Ecstasy by Irving Stone, or anything juicy and dramatic from James Michener.

My Mom was about caring. For the better part of 50 years, she worked as a nurse, and nursing was a big portion of her identity. Here's her little nurse’s manual.  She’d watch endless soap operas with her afternoon Earl Grey tea, like General Hospital, where the heroes were always doctors and nurses. She worked the graveyard shift in Port Chester Hospital while I was in High School, which allowed me to stay up late and gain a total mastery of 1950’s twilight zone reruns till all hours, a great gift to a teenager in the 70’s, while she would help try to heal the overnight motorcycle accident victims in the Port Chester Operating Room.  Her stories of trying to save those night shift accident victims being one good reason why I never took to motorcycles.

When nursing day or night was not enough, she would volunteer to work with the Ambulance Corps in Scarsdale, driving out at all odd hours to rescue the sick in crisis. She not only lovingly raised three challenging boys with Arthur, but helped develop a love of animals in us by caring for C4 for near 20 years after that pup’s retirement from the vitamin wars in the Bronx, and of course the moonispal butchess and Ootek and stripes the bipes and all the other wonderful animals that we were guardians of with Joyce when I was young.

After she moved to Florida, she continued nursing at Cape Coral Hospital, and caring for twin Siamese cats and then after retiring from there, she cared for the elderly as a volunteer for another decade. She entertained friendship force visitors from around the world when they were in Ft Myers. I liked it that the adventurous world she used to visit abroad was taking the time to repay her the favor at home. Here’s her friendship force lanyard.

It’s been nearly 50 years since Joyce introduced me to Oberon, Helena,

Puck and Hermia during A Midsummer Night's Dream under the Ontario stars. Here’s something Helena said in that play about that which connects people:

Things base and vile, folding no quantity,

Love can transpose to form and dignity:

Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind;

And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind:

Nor hath Love's mind of any judgment taste;

Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste:

And therefore is Love said to be a child,

Because in choice he is so oft beguiled.

Thanks for everything, Mom. Here’s a Salvation Army-free toast to your laugher. And happy birthday.

IN MEMORY OF MY COUSIN JOYCE GROLLMAN

 By Edith Moore

     Joyce passed away on Jan. 29/14. I loved her dearly from our earliest childhood. Now, as a way of participating in her family’s memorial ceremony I have been asked to relate some memories of our times together, as well as provide some factual information regarding our shared family histories. The main period being remembered is approximately from 1925 to 1955 covering our early lives in Toronto. After that period Joyce and I ranged far and wide, but remained in regular contact, often getting together here in Ottawa or where she and/or I happened to be - in London Eng., Scarsdale, Toronto, Florida and Arizona.

     To begin, I would like to explain who the members of the families are, how they interconnected, and some of their respective histories. You will note that my knowledge of the facts is limited, but perhaps the memories which follow will be a useful addition to yours.

     Joyce’s Mother was Hazel Moore. She was  born in Ontario and was the adopted daughter of David Clinton Moore and his first wife. When his first wife died prematurely, our grandfather brought Hazel into his marriage to Sarah Elizabeth Ottaway, who became Hazel’s stepmother. Subsequently David & Sarah gave birth to Mildred, Harold (my father) and Kathleen (who died in infancy).

          David Clinton Moore’s family immigrated to Clinton, Ontario from Ireland.

          Sarah Elizabeth Ottaway’s family immigrated to Barrie, Ontario from Maidstone, Kent,

          England.

     Joyce’s Father was Walter Rice. His father immigrated from Wales, England to Newfoundland when Newfoundland was a colony of England. Joyce told me that the family settled in Twillingate, Newfoundland. In fact, Audrey & I frequently visit Twillingate, and found that people by the name of Rice are buried in the cemetery. The “locals” also indicated that there are still some people by the name of Rice living there. (Twillingate is one of the most beautiful places in an exceptionally beautiful part of the world).

     Joyce’s father then immigrated with his parents and siblings to Montreal, Quebec, Canada for a brief period before settling in Toronto.

THE FAMILY CONNECTIONS

     Our grandfather, David Moore, who in the beginning, with his first wife, chose Hazel as their first and only child, was deeply committed to Hazel throughout her life. He himself was the caring oldest sibling in a large Irish immigrant family. (His mother was physically disabled.) I have some postcards that he wrote to his children (Hazel, Mildred & Harold) which indicate his capacity for humour, care & understanding. His Salvation army appointments also suggest that he was recognized as a leader who could connect with, and gently influence, a diversity of people in different situations.

     Our grandmother, Sarah Ottaway/Moore was raised on a farm, one of five independent sisters and a brother (who remained on the farm). She left home at the age of 16 yrs, against her Anglican parents’ wishes, to join the Salvation Army. She served along side our grandfather in their appointments, and with him raised their children. While she genuinely cared for Hazel, Mildred and Harold, her approach was much more direct and intent on ensuring their religious well-being. (This carried over to her grandchildren. She lived with our family when my sister and I were teenagers!) She was also a serious and respected Bible scholar.

     My father  had a close relationship with his beloved older sister. He said that they “always stood up for each other”. And he and my Uncle Walter would often get together - for example - in the Great Depression time - to discuss birthday gifts for their respective wives. So it was that Hazel’s premature death (when Joyce was 7 yrs of age) drew our families closer.

     Incidentally, some of this history would not have happened, were it not for Joyce’s mother. My mother , who was very fond of Hazel, liked to tell the story that she and my father would have never married. It seems my parents had ended their relationship until Hazel had (unbeknownst to them) invited each of them to dinner together. Joyce was flower girl at their wedding.

THE SALVATION ARMY CONNECTION

     Joyce’s parents, Hazel & Walter, met, got to know each other, and married as a result of their

respective families’ active involvement in the Salvation Army in Toronto.

     The Rice family had been members of the Salvation Army in Newfoundland and Montreal before settling in Toronto. I knew two of Joyce’s first cousins on her father’s side who became Salvation Army officers - one of whom was appointed to serve in developing countries.

     The Moore family also were members and officers of the Salvation Army. Our grandparents were officers serving in various appointments in Ontario and Quebec. One of their later appointments was as leaders of the Salvation Army in Newfoundland at the time Newfoundland was still a colony of Britain, before it had joined Canada. They were the first non-Newfoundland leaders in this large and proud Salvation Army territory. (Possibly our grandfather’s Irish roots helped to pave the way!) They rose to the rank of Colonel. Our Aunt Mildred also became an officer, and she and her husband were noted for their pioneering social work in Anchorage, Alaska. Their son, our cousin, David Clitheroe, whom you have met, has pursued a similar path as a Salvation Army officer.

     Hopefully, the foregoing account has been useful in providing perhaps a more factual account of what I remember of Joyce’s heritage. Now I would like to share a more personal picture of my life with Joyce within the context of our extended family-in-common.

Memories of Joyce’s Mother, Hazel Moore/Rice

     My Aunt Hazel passed away when I was very young. Consequently I have no direct personal recollection of her. However, I learned much about her from my parents:

     I have learned how much she loved Joyce; how much she was loved by both my parents; what a caring person she was; how she and my father supported each other as they grew up at home; how she welcomed my mother into the Moore family; how the close bond between my father and my Aunt Hazel was carried over into his continuing care for Joyce.

     I have also heard much about Aunt Hazel’s gifted musicianship. She had a rich contralto voice, and was much in demand as a soloist on important occasions within the Salvation Army world. There was some indication that her birth mother was musically talented. And certainly her adopted mother (our grandfather’s first wife) was a musician who composed published church music.

Memories of Joyce’s Father, Walter Rice

     I was proud of my Uncle Walter. He stands out in my memory as a commanding presence.

     He was tall and straight and strong - the prototypical policeman. I was astounded at the size of his shoes when he took them off on entering the house. He was gruff of speech but never intimidating. As children, having an uncle who was a policeman gave my sister and I (we thought) some leverage with our playmates. Although he was a man of few words, we always felt safe and cared for in his presence.

     He was a police sergeant in the Toronto police force and responsible for wireless operations. Joyce put me straight on the fact that he was not a “cop”.

     He was a family man who as a widower, made a home with Joyce until Joyce had completed her nursing education and moved to the U.S.A.

     I clearly remember his second marriage which took place in our home with my parents as witnesses. How happy they were! He married a person whom we liked. They were both employed at the same police station.

     He lived to a ‘ripe old age’. I was with Joyce in Toronto at the time of his death.

My Cousin Joyce

     How do I do justice to the memory of this very special person in my life? You, for whom I am writing this, knew her intimately at times and places which did not involve me. Joyce & I both lived in Toronto from birth (1925 & 1932 respectively) until we both moved away around 1955. I believe she was going to a nursing position in Baltimore. I was going to a social work position in Melbourne, Australia (where my mother’s family lived.)

     The period together in Toronto was a time of frequent contact between her family and my family. My younger sister, Kathleen & I always looked forward to seeing Joyce, but I was Kath’s “big sister” & Joyce was mine - especially after Kath passed away.

     Here are some vignettes which I hope will enrich the meaning that Joyce has for you in your relationships with her.

     My earliest recollection of life with Joyce is of sleigh-riding in winter on a hill located across the street from the house where she and Uncle Walter lived.

     In our younger years Joyce was always with us on Christmas Day. I always looked forward to spending most of the day playing the board games we always received as gifts. It was a Christmas tradition.

     During the Second World War years, in support of the war effort, she joined other high school students spending their summer holidays working on large farms.

     Joyce and her father spent her early years as members of the Salvation Army. However after her mother passed away, they gradually withdrew. Joyce began to attend church with her girlfriend. At one point I remember Joyce going to great lengths to explain to me that she now belonged to The Church of England (a.k.a. Anglican/Episcopalian Church) which she explained was Catholic, but not Roman Catholic. We were well aware that out grandmother would not approve!

     Joyce trained as a Registered Nurse at Oshawa General Hospital. (Oshawa is a city on the border of Toronto). I remember the pearl necklace that my father chose for her as our gift for her graduation.

     Joyce had a number of boyfriends. I well remember my father in a state of anxiety when she was staying with us at our summer cottage, and was very late getting home from a date. In the early ‘40's she really “fell in love” with a second cousin on the Ottaway/Moore side of the family. Thinking that a “blood” relationship precluded marriage, she introduced him to her friend, whom he then proceeded to marry. Later, Joyce discovered there was no blood connection. She was justifiably upset.

     In the early 1950's Joyce worked at Sunnybrook Hospital ( a former military, and still partly military, hospital) in Toronto. There was a horseback riding stable nearby, and Joyce undertook to give me some lessons. I was immediately “sold”, and attempted to use the experience in my work with adolescents. But I did not look very expert in my newly-bought jodhpurs and my enthusiasm waned! (We recalled this experience many years later when Joyce visited us here in Ottawa, and we went to a performance of the RCMP Musical Ride.)

     As you know, Joyce maintained her nursing connections by regularly attending her class reunions. On many of these occasions she also came to visit Audrey & I here in Ottawa. We always “just picked up where we left off.” One of these visits was particularly meaningful: my aging father was by then living here, and they had a tearful final reunion. And now I am thankful that Joyce & I were able to have our last reunion in Arizona in 2010. It was a great comfort to me to know that you, her “nuclear” family, were so lovingly caring for her.

     Finally, I want you - Joyce’s nuclear family - to know that I have been writing these memories not only to express my love for Joyce; but also in the hope that it will bring you some comfort in your love for her. I am so pleased that Audrey & I did get to meet some of you. You can be sure that Joyce cared very much for you. She always brought me up to date on events in your lives, and accounts of her visits with the families of her three much-loved sons.

     Audrey & I will be thinking of you on Aug. 06, 2014 - from a place not far from Twillingate, Newfoundland.