Mary you lived your life. How many of us can say that? In helping those affected by dyspraxia, you found your destiny and you followed it. Yours wasn’t always an easy path but you gave it your heart and soul. There was no giving up, no going back, your work was your life. The diagnosis of your own dyspraxia was a gift to you and in turn it has become a gift to us all.

 

I met Mary in October 2000. At the time I was completing a PHD and had just begun teaching French at a school in Golders Green. I had previously taught adults but not kids and in two weeks I was reduced to a nervous wreck. A wonderful school counsellor suggested I might be dyspraxic, so I googled the word, read the description, and felt flooded with both relief and shock. Mary’s details were listed on the web page. I hesitated, I dialled her number. She took me seriously. All those things I stressed over – opening a tin, opening my front door, opening a bottle of wine – she didn’t laugh, she listened. 

 

It turned out that Mary lived only a bus ride away and she invited me round to her house in West Hampstead. I remember the journey vividly, shaking on the 328 bus. Something had shifted in my world and I was scared. Me, disability? Was I crazy?

 

Mary answered the door with a booming voice, ushering me in and expressing surprise that I hadn’t got lost on the way. I was immediately struck by her hospitality, by her kindness and by her openness to share her personal experiences of dyspraxia and other neuro-diverse conditions with me, at that point a total stranger to her. Mary offered me a cup of tea and we began chatting in the kitchen. While our conversation helped me gain an awareness of my dyspraxia, the tea making was an equally important eye opener. Mary asked me several times how I took my tea, still got it wrong and spilt the milk everywhere. I thought, ‘That’s what I do. That’s what I’m like.’  

 

That meeting meant everything to me. Not only was it a key to acknowledging a side of myself I tried to hide, but in Mary I saw a positive role model: someone who fought back, someone who despite her limitations, and indeed because of them, was achieving so much to help others. I spent an hour and a half with Mary; it changed my life. Looking back, I wonder how many other emerging dyspraxics, Mary has helped to connect with their dyspraxic self in this way. A fair few I expect. Before I left, I asked Mary to confirm if I had dyspraxia – I wanted clarification. She said, ‘I’m not supposed to say if you have it or not, but you have it.’ This is what I liked about Mary. She was always direct, always honest. She couldn’t technically diagnose dyspraxia as she wasn’t a qualified educational psychologist but she could identify it better than anybody.

 

After that first meeting, I began working for Mary at her house, assisting her work for the adult group of the Dyspraxia Foundation (this was pre-Danda days). Working with Mary was a wonderful experience but as she herself would admit, she was not an easy taskmaster. This was partly because she liked to change her mind about things but also because she didn’t like to delegate. Indeed Mary thrived on being involved with every aspect of the Foundation’s work at that time – amongst other things she answered the helpline, updated membership databases, produced Focus, ran her North London Group, coordinated a national network of groups, liased with educational psychologists and other professionals working in the field, raised media awareness, organised fundraising events and conferences. I quickly realised that this work was a passion which was a way of life. What I marvelled at most was Mary’s energy, not only did she fight tirelessly to raise the profile of dyspraxia and support dyspraxics, but she managed to balance her commitment to the cause with the needs of her family and the other charities that she cared about as well as finding time for her beloved cats and her garden. Mary’s life was a rich one and time spent in her company was enjoyable and uplifting. 

 

Working with Mary was great fun – her sense of humour carried her through minor and major mishaps. Whether it was a case of losing hours of painstaking work on the database by accidentally erasing information or hearing that a funding appeal had been rejected, Mary had that ability to accept and move on. She was resilient. 

 

We became good friends and Mary came to my wedding in 2001. Here she came to the rescue when the coach booked to transport guests from the church to the reception failed to materialise on time. Proud of her encyclopaedic London public transport system knowledge, Mary confidently ushered non-Londoners to the nearest tube, loudly inviting everyone to join her. And this is how I remember her – delightfully loud and confident, always stepping in to help. There are some friends you can call in the middle of the night in a crisis. Mary was like that. 

 

Despite her confidence in the dyspraxic arena, there was a more troubled private side to Mary. She described feelings of failure when she was unable to hold down a job despite her history degree, and an ongoing inadequacy over her dyslexic style English Language difficulties, harking back to her education. Like many of us, undiagnosed dyspraxia had left its mark on her self-esteem, but Mary rose magnificently above it.

 

I moved out of London in 2002 and was sadly unable to continue working for Mary at her house, although we worked closely on my book ‘Dyspraxic Voices’ and we remained in touch. Mary was very supportive of my plays and hoped I would write a piece which would engage directly with dyspraxia. This is something I hope to honour one day. More recently, my dyspraxia has been challenged by becoming a parent to two little girls and Mary’s support here has been invaluable. She made me laugh as she recalled her frustration with changing nappies and working buggy straps, and her fear of measuring out formula milk correctly. 

 

After I had been working for Mary for some time, I asked her when she had decided to start helping others with dyspraxia. I presumed that once her own condition had been diagnosed, she wished to help alleviate the suffering of others. This was essentially true, only Mary’s answer went deeper than that. She told me that shortly after her own diagnosis she had a vision in which God spoke to her and told her that it was her destiny to save the lives of those with dyspraxia. As I understand it, Mary was not a devout or practising Catholic, but she had a strong sense of spirituality and her belief in God was confirmed by her vision. After this experience Mary said she had found her life’s purpose and would not look back. I think this moment in Mary’s life throws light on her passion, on the fact that when things were difficult, she never flagged in her commitment.

 

Mary’s influence over my life has been a profound one. She has enabled me not only to accept and work with my dyspraxia but through her example to live my life without fear and to be true to myself. And of course I’m not the only one. I cannot begin to imagine how many other neuro-diverse individuals Mary has helped both directly and indirectly through her work. For me, Mary embodies the true meaning of generosity. Her legacy with live on within all of us as it will within the work of DANDA.