Today the Ryle clan gathered on Kaurna Country at Mt Lofty overlooking Piccadilly Valley to scatter the ashes of our beloved matriarch, my mother. It would have been her 101st birthday. Not all could make it, but all were in some way present.
Ode for Marjorie Isobel Ryle
At Mt Lofty, overlooking Piccadilly Valley
Here, where the wind sings through stringybark and gum,
And the valley opens its arms in quiet reverence,|
We gather to release what remains –
Not to forget, but to remember more deeply.
From Birkenhead’s sunlit shores she came,
Where seagulls cried and blue skies bore witness
To a girl of grit and grace,
Who laboured with laughter in Adelaide’s heart,
And loved the boy next door with a devotion that endured.
She raised three children – Dennis, Janet, Alan –
In a home where wisdom perched like a talon,
And love rang like a bell through every room.
She led with light in the Girls Brigade,
A beacon for the young,
And in her church, she stood firm –
A pillar of faith, a wellspring of patience.
Now, her ashes return to the earth,
Scattered like seeds upon this sacred ridge,
Where mist meets memory,
And the valley below cradles her legacy.
Let the wind carry her story.
Let the hills echo her laughter.
Let the soil receive her strength.
For she is not gone –
She is woven into the breath of this place,
Into the roots of every tree,
Into the hearts of those who carry her name.
So we release her, not in sorrow alone,
But in gratitude –
For a century well-lived,
For a lineage of love and grace,
For the girl from Birkenhead
Who became a matriarch of kindness.
Rest now, Marjorie,
In the valley’s hush and the mountain’s embrace.
Your life was a blessing.
Your memory, a song.
Your spirit, forever part of this land.
I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. 8Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day—and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing.
2 Timothy 4:7,8
Wondering Pilgrim 