Vernon Bruce: 'Effervescent, enthusiastic and eccentric'

She was born, in 1927, at Cadhay House by Ottery St Mary in Devon as the second daughter to Peveril William-Powlett and his wife, who was known as Kitten. As her surname implies, she was a direct descendant of the sage Tudor statesman, Sir William Paulet, who became 1st Marquess of Winchester.

Living the war years at her birthplace, with her seven cousins, their three mothers and her Victorian grandparents, while her father was at sea fighting, the young Anglican was sent to the Roman Catholic Convent of the Assumption, in Sidmouth. This set the course for her life of private faithful pursuit, which had dalliance with Christian Science, when she became ill and rather lost, but which culminated in her reception as Roman Catholic in her 80s. 

Her father became Captain at Dartmouth after the war, which gave 19 year old Vernon and her elder sister, Pansy, the freedom of horses, dogs, the Britannia Beagle pack and a generation of young Cadets and Midshipmen, to agitate. This meant her children frequently met senior naval officers when growing up who said, with a twinkle, “Oh, you’re Vernon’s son! Gosh, yes … Vernon!”

Vernon went to Malta GC when her father became Flag Officer Destroyers in the Mediterranean Fleet, which was based in Grand Harbour. Here she married Henry Bruce, who was Flag Lieutenant to another of the admirals. It began a marriage that marked its Diamond anniversary but continued in her mind until its rebirth for eternity. The white wedding, in St Paul’s Cathedral, Valetta, was enhanced by a multitude of naval officers in pristine white uniforms. Among them was one of her father’s more well-known ship captains, The Duke of Edinburgh. He and Princess Elizabeth had moved in, two doors away at Guardamangia, and this proximity created a link, which lasted a lifetime, because Elizabeth II always frequently reflected with affection on her Salad Days of 1951, it’s polo and the life of a naval wife.

Henry left the Royal Navy and its Polo team to be a farmer beside Winchester, in 1953, and Vernon was able to evolve her great passion for animals. Polo ponies gave way, first to dogs and cats but, in the decades that followed, she seemed destined to collect more and more bizarre breeds. Her menagerie grew relentlessly, with llama, guanaca, reindeer, copious sheep, alpaca, squirrel monkeys, a bactrian camel, wallaby and even a zebra. She added to these, aviaries of cockatoos, parrots, golden and silver pheasants. The cost of feed horrified Henry, so Vernon was forced to keep moving her animals around the fields to stop him discovering their true number.

Her marriage ended with Henry’s death, in 2011, and she settled into being alone with her usual pluck. This was when she moved house, ultimately to Winchester and the encompass of her four children, 11 grandchildren and growing roll call of greats.

But the mark she leaves is in others by the challenge and encouragement she engaged in them. Vernon was unconventional, unshockable, direct and with an engaging humour, which made friends with strangers in about two phrases. Her habit was to wander along, with the mobility of her three-wheeler trolly, talking to everyone. This always involved a pretty enquiring question that bordered on cheeky but rested on humour and a transparent respect. Combined with unstuffy indifference for form, it worked every time. 
She was ready to die. 

After packing in 96 years of interest in others, her enemies of eyesight, legs and hearing were winning. But she never ever complained and always said, “I’m much better”, despite sometimes appearing with a hacking cough, pouring nose and inaudible voice. In the end, her love of life, its living things, the capacity for kindness in others and a pursuit of a loving God were her compass. And this compass gave her the life she wanted and, while many may be sad to see it end, she will be saying to someone, somewhere, “I’m much better now”.