(Jill
Fenson and Steven Stead, taken in Umfolozi in 2008 after the opening of
"Cinderella" when Steven and Greg King took her on safari for the
first time in her life.)
Well-known
former Durban actress, scriptwriter and playwright Jill Fenson who was married
to the late John Moss, died in the UK this week. The following is a tribute
from Durban director and KickstArt co-producer, Steven Stead.
Jilly Moss was an extraordinary and
unforgettable lady. An elegant and accomplished actress, a prolific and
inspired writer, a witty and whimsical illustrator, a caring, if somewhat
bemused, mother and devoted wife, and a great friend. She was a terrific person
to have in one’s life: all energy and youthful spirit, with a child-like sense
of fun and faith in the world, and a wise woman’s generosity and unsentimental
warmth. She was an intensely positive person who, because she believed the best
of people, invariably brought out the best in people.
She had an impish, elven quality that never
left her, reminding one of the Shakespearean spirits she loved so much: Ariel,
Puck, and of Peter Pan. Her mind was always active, her living always
proactive, constantly creating, constantly challenging herself and engaging
with her world, and the people who were lucky enough to wander into it.
Spending any time with Jill was always
festive, always an occasion. She was a brilliant hostess, who didn’t need much
of an excuse for a party, and relished gathering friends together, and feeding
and entertaining them. She didn’t think she was much of a cook, rather proudly
declaring that she only had a “certain amount of emotional flare in the
kitchen”, but that emotional flare was responsible for some of the most
memorable, sometimes recklessly impromptu, sometimes meticulously planned celebrations,
I have ever experienced.
I shall never forget staying with Jill for
a month when John was away on business, and I was at university, over 20 years
ago. I must have been about 19. I remember arriving at their little house in
Jesmond Grove to find: Jill pottering around the garden in her sarong and
bathing costume, Scrabble laid out on the dining room table and a Spaghetti Bolognese
brewing in the kitchen. She looked up at me from whatever plant she was
wrestling with, and beamed. “Hello, you! There’s a bottle of fizz in the
fridge!” That was an understatement. The fridge was stocked to bursting with
obligatory bottles of Nederburg Cuvee Brut! I had the time of my life. She must
have been about 60 then... But that was what made Jill so special; any
difference in age between her and anyone else seemed to evaporate in the face
of her zest for life, and her utterly egalitarian outlook.
She loved A A Milne, and Winnie-the-Pooh, which she found funny and
wise and unpretentious and astute. Which is rather how I felt about her. I
associate her absolutely with Pooh’s assessment of the world:
"Tigger is
all right, really," said Pooh lazily.
"Of course he
is," said Christopher Robin.
"Everybody is
really," said Pooh. "That's what I think," said Pooh. "But
I don't suppose I'm right," he said.
"Of course
you are," said Christopher Robin.
Jilly taught me how
to celebrate life; how to find the absurdly funny side of calamity; how to be
caring without being cloying; how to give generously without expectation of
return. She taught me how to speak frankly but carefully (even when several
drinks down!), and to exhibit a Zen-like patience, particularly useful when
playing Scrabble, which must have been linked to her extraordinary ability to
go out three or four times in a game, (which she always did!) with the utmost
humility and grace. She taught me how to be the very best kind of grown-up.
I shall miss my
friend and her rejuvenating, invigorating company, her ready laughter, and her
easy charm. Whether hanging the world up to dry over brandies at 2am, or
staring in companionable silence at our Scrabble letters on a rainy afternoon,
or chatting away after the theatre or opera, spending time with Jill was always
a tonic. She is irreplaceable. I will miss her terribly. – Steven Stead
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