Denise Cynthia McLean.

14th April 1943 - 13th January 2026

My Aunt Den has passed away at 82 years old.

Den was born in Bishops Waltham during the Second World War and was the third child of four.

She was the last to pass of those four. Barry, the eldest, died at five years old and possibly before Den was born.

Tony, second born, died in 2017 and Pat, the youngest and my mum, passed in 1986.

The family lineage is something of a mystery, my maternal grandmother died when Pat was around 18 months old.

Mine and my cousins grandfather is someone who has never been clearly identified, marked as X on birth certificates. There were, and are, rumours that he may have been Italian and when you look at photos of Pat and Tony there is some weight to that as both had olive skin, deep brown eyes and almost jet black hair.

Den, in comparison, was fair skinned with light hair and she was the spitting image of her mother, when looking at the few photos we had of that lady, so maybe they did not all hail from the same stallion. Den was aware of that and it was never a concern. She led her life in her own unique way and whilst those of us in the family used to look at it with some humour, there is a certain amount of admiration required too.

She was unapologetically her own person, fiercely independent and hard working.

She adored her animals, sponsoring Donkeys and buying all of the wild bird food that Hylands (local fruit and veg store in the village) stocked on a weekly basis.

I am not kidding when I say that when I was clearing the house I gave her neighbour bags and bags of the stuff and I still have some here nearly two years later.

As described here https://www.my11yearplan.com/post/_1986 she lived in the house that I grew up in. When she finally succumbed to living full time in a care home I had the task of clearing the house and handing it back to the council after nearly 60 years.

It was one of the hardest things to do, this was my childhood home, and whilst I hadn't lived there since 1986 it really hadn't changed much in the best part of forty years.

Same furniture and wallpaper in the lounge, the old stereo system from the early 80's that replaced the old Gramophone, the same lino on the floor of my bedroom. It was like I had never left.

My parents room was a time capsule, same bed, same wallpaper and same large rug covering the floor, not fitted carpets, the bedroom furniture made of pine and by my fathers hand and a shrine to me by means of almost every school photo taken of me on display, next to a signed photo of Kevin Keegan that Den had added.

My old pram was even in the loft.

She had also kept my old toy box, made by Harry when I was around four years old. I had visions of it being full of my childhood, but nope, she had stored old glassware in it. It is now in my bathroom and acts as my towel box.

Den had made the house her home in the years after I left in her own unique way by covering sofas and seats in as many soft cuddly toys as she could find, including a soft toy dog I made in my first year at Swanmore Secondary. I have managed to retain that toy after my cousin rescued it from the care home Den ended her days in.

She had also adorned many of the doors with animal pictures she had cut from newspapers, her passion for animals was all consuming, it knew no bounds. One of my longstanding memories is of Dens almost addiction to Trebor Extra Strong Mints which she kept in an old Worcester Ware sweet tin, that depicts a farming scene on the rounded dome lid, and was always dented and battered. It was kept in the larder and the smell when opening the door was sometimes overpowering of anything else.

I used to 'steal' the odd one and can remember that initial sensation of the mint hitting your tongue and making you wave your hand in front of your mouth in a vain attempt to stem the 'heat'.

I have that tin in my home, with extra strong mints in and it will always remind me of her.

Harry (my father) planted a Silver Birch tree in the back garden and Leylandii bushes in the front, just before he decided that living with us was no longer on his agenda, and I swear they both ended up in Ridgemede folklore.

The tree grew to epic proportions, soon dwarfing the established conker trees across the road and getting very close to telephone lines. Well the locals didn't like that, because people like nothing more than to moan about something that is nothing, similar to when the bushes started to encroach on the footpath, that arguably was rarely used by anyone as it only really lead to the gate for the rear garden and the square. They were huge! Den's response was to always stick two fingers up in the general direction of 'nosey' neighbours and tell them to piss off, in that glorious Hampshire accent, so 'off' becomes 'orrf'. Both hedge and tree have since been cut down. Ridgemede was close knit in my time living there as I describe here, https://www.my11yearplan.com/post/my-childhood-was-sublime

and Den did have friends, Roger next door was a saint to her (as he was to me when mum died) and she was friends with Pam Hammond and Val across the road.

I am willing to bet, after the passing of Angie, who moved in the same day as Den and her family, that Den was the longest standing resident that Ridgemede has seen, maybe only to be surpassed by the sons and daughters of those early residents who still reside there. There is something magical about Ridgemede and I always drive around it when I am down that way.

A family have moved into 21 Pine Road now and I hope the children love it as much as I did.

As a family we decided to have an unattended cremation for Den, which may seem a little heartless or even disrespectful, but as mentioned before Den was a very private person, aside from the family members and a few choice friends, she lived a life of almost solitude, it would have been a very sparse ceremony and she hated a fuss.

As a family we are getting together in the village she was born and lived in her whole life (and where we grew up) to celebrate her in our way before scattering her ashes on my mums grave.

That last bit fills me with dread.

Not the scattering, that is honouring Den's wish (a bit like the picture of Cliff Richard she wanted in her coffin), but the being at my mums graveside.

I never go.

I have been to it twice, the day we buried her in 1986 and then again in 1993 when we buried my school and Army mate, Jon.

Geography is not the issue, I simply do not see it as 'my mum'. It is a patch of grass, it is not her and does not represent her in any capacity to me.

If anything it only serves to raise unhappy memories, watching the coffin go into the ground, I have no desire to relive that. She lives in my heart and my mind and I do not need to visit a place, that only holds sadness as a memory, to keep her as alive as much as I can.

An aside, as I am want to drop in every now and then on my posts. We met as a family and we did the scattering.

I have to admit that actually I did not find it as hard as I envisioned being at Mums grave, even with Jon being so close too.

I have to assume that I have either exorcised those demons or I am truly a hardened heartless MF.

We sent her off in the best way this family can, with laughter and love. It was a superb day. thank you.

Den was always never seemingly interested in what we consider convention or the norm'. She never married, never had children, I never knew her to show any interest romantically to anybody in all of my years. She never travelled, never flew in a plane, in fact, I think she only left Hampshire once and that was to go to London.

There may have been day trips to the Isle of Wight as a child, but that's the extent of it. She never learned to drive, instead relying on a proper old school bike, a true 'treader', that was still in the shed when I had the house emptied in 2024.

The romantic in me considered keeping and restoring it, but 30+ years of no use or maintenance had taken its toll.

She had a few jobs in her life and worked right up to Covid in 2020, well into her 70's.

There were two main and long standing roles. A chambermaid at Meon Valley, (as we all know it) and head housekeeper at Vernon Hill House. When she first started at Meon Valley the firm provided transport in the form of a minibus, her collection point was at the bottom left hand corner of Ridgemede, by the telephone box at the end of the ramp, and near the Police station, locals know where I mean. She used to face away from the road whilst waiting for the pick up, one of her foibles, as she never wanted people to see her.

The other role was as Head (only) Housekeeper to Lord and Lady Newton who resided in Vernon Hill House.

https://research.hgt.org.uk/item/vernon-hill-house-vernon-hill/ Lord Newton was a hereditary peer, Den kept a cutting regarding his death and I found it when I cleared out her paperwork. Vernon Hill is bloody steep and Den would ride that bike up and down it twice daily. She would leave, in all weathers, year round, to arrive at 6am, make breakfast and do the initial clean as well as prep lunch.

She'd get home around 1-2pm and then head back at 4pm to do dinner and any other duties before returning home around 9pm. Seven days a week. I never knew her to take holidays. Within the grounds were garden houses and a retired couple lived there, Mr and Mrs West, I suspect they were previous employees of the Newtons, I do know that Den would visit them daily and they were dear friends of hers. Denise C. McLean lived for just under 83 years.

A true stalwart of old Bishops Waltham. She loved her family, was a strong defender of the same and gave all she could to the passions in her life, animals and us. I am immensely proud to be her nephew and I know that my cousins feel the same to have her as an aunt. She made us laugh, often, but never made us cry. Rest easy, please give Pat and Tony a hug for us and make sure they behave. Although you were always the bugger that led them astray...