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Former World Service newsreader Liz Francis delivered this eulogy at the funeral service for Christine:
TRIBUTE TO CHRISTINE WIENER, 1929-2006
Anyone meeting Christine for the first time would have been instantly struck by her appearance. She was very striking. She wasn’t pretty, or beautiful, but I do think you could have called her handsome. She was tall, with dark hair and wide-set eyes in a fine, strong-boned face.
She had an unmistakable French/Jewish chic: immaculately turned out in extremely good quality and expensive clothes. She was well made up, coiffed and manicured but always discreetly. She managed to achieve this discreet but perfect style on a shoestring by tirelessly combing through the annual sales and picking out the best quality bargains. She was the same with her furniture and household effects, collecting antiques and objets d’art over many years. And she collected books as if she were setting up a library.
Christine sometimes appeared ‘haughty’, cold and indifferent to people. And she admitted to being (in her words) ‘a dreadful intellectual snob, who did not suffer fools gladly’. But she was one of the most warm-hearted of people – if she allowed you near her. And she was an unwaveringly loyal friend.
She was an excellent cook and a generous hostess and her taste for malt whisky and fine wines was legendry. But she preferred to entertain only two or three people at a time. She was basically rather reserved, uncomfortable in large groups, and she hated parties and disliked strangers. I think she was fundamentally suspicious of people, which is perhaps not surprising when you know about her past.
Christine – or Christiane Genevieve Wiener, to give her full, correct name - was born in Paris in 1929. She was an only child. Her parents were Jewish and as far as one could gather, her father was a financier of some sort --- in banking or on the French Stock Exchange. It appears that her early life was typical of a girl brought up in a well-to-do Parisian family. But when she was nine years old, this comfortable and secure life was suddenly and horrendously disrupted. The threat of war forced her parents to leave Paris to escape from the Nazis and from the anti-Jewish feeling that was prevalent among some of the French themselves at that time.
They made their way down to the South of France, to Nice, where they remained during the war. But they permanently lived in fear of what might happen to them and who might betray them.
Christine was understandably reluctant to talk about those times and I doubt if anyone, other, perhaps, than one or two people, have ever heard exactly what happened to her and her parents. It seems that her interrupted education prevented her from going to university and that she came to England when she was about 18, with no qualifications and very few possessions.
She began her journalistic career writing for trade magazines, apparently earning extra money by sitting as an artist’s model. She became (and remained) an active union member and made friends with left-wing people, sympathetic to Karl Marx and his theories.
Eventually she joined the BBC as a typist in the World Service Newsroom. After a while, she was promoted and spent the remainder of her career as a fully-fledged newsroom sub-editor. She was well respected for her calm and efficient manner and, speaking personally as a newsreader, she was also respected for her immaculately crafted news stories.
During this time, while on holiday, she became enchanted with Scotland. However, during her expeditions, she found there were no good guide books for people without cars, who had to travel on foot or by bus.
So, having acquired some valuable information and advice about publishing from a newsroom colleague, she set about writing and publishing her own Traveller’s Guides on the country. Once she had produced a book, she tirelessly travelled around promoting it to any likely shops and organisations that might sell it. And at the same time she would be researching for her next one.
My friend Pru and I went with her to Arran, where we rented a bungalow on the edge of the shore at Lamlash. We managed nearly three weeks, living together and trekking around (in the car) without a quarrel. Instead we laughed until we nearly cried at some of our more extreme adventures – which would make a very different book.
But we did learn that although she was extraordinarily well read, with a wide knowledge of world affairs, she was totally impractical and couldn’t even change the proverbial light bulb. Neither could she read a map.
There were, of course, language difficulties between the Anglo-French woman and those Scots with a strong accent and broad dialect. Being half Scottish myself, I was frequently required to interpret for both sides.
Christine loved animals. She had a Boston terrier called James and after he died she was only too happy to baby sit for my pet Bumble in London and in Sussex.
After her retirement from the BBC, Christine was re-introduced to a journalist she had known in the early days of her life in London -- Paddy Goldring. He was by now a widower, living in a Norfolk village, and had a scattered grown up family. And he was basically lonely with a great void in his life. They found very quickly that they were soul-mates; able to provide each with what the other most lacked and needed.
Paddy was a splendid man: an entertaining raconteur, a wordsmith and a great character with some fine Irish blood in his veins. They moved in together and commuted between her Chelsea flat and his house in Norfolk on a fortnightly basis.
They travelled extensively, and he introduced her to a wide circle of his friends and a new way of life. They made a wonderful couple and were a joy to see together and to be with.
They had eight years together before he died. Christine was heartbroken and began to neglect herself, often refusing help, and failing fast. I am not going to dwell on this last year, but it was bad. Instead, I’m thankful she had such a wonderful, happy eight years with Paddy and that she saw her books published -- a memorial to her love of Scotland. So now all I can say is: ‘Ye’ve gang awaa fray oos, but ye’ll be aa richt the noo. Cheerio Christine an’ mony taas for sharing ye’sel’ wee oos.’ Which translates as: ‘You’ve gone away from us but you will be alright now. Good Bye, Christine and thank you for sharing yourself with us.’
-- Elizabeth Francis.
19th June 2006
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