It was an honour to be asked by the family of Jean Adamson to speak at her funeral yesterday. I was worried I wouldn’t make it as when I went to start my car it had a flat battery, but thankfully a kind neighbour dropped everything to take me there.

In this photo Jean’s sense of fun stands out. She is with her dear WI friends dressed as a bunch of St Trinians for the annual float parade at Stretham Feast.

My piece is only five minutes long, and I hope it encapsulates Jean’s sense of fun and iron will which shone through with her character, Topsy, who was inspired by her.

In true Jean Admason style, I’d like to tell you a story, a short story about the Jean I had the privilege of knowing while living in Stretham.  Jean was our local celebrity, the lady who judged the best float at Stretham Feast and was the star guest at school fetes and playgroup parties.

I remember feeling shy and in awe of Jean the first time I met her because of her great literary status.  But I had no need to be because she was the kindest and humblest person you could meet; she was much loved in her community, giving back that love too.

But underneath Jean’s modest demeanor was a backbone made of steel, and characteristics of this were evident from her childhood. She once told me about her time as an evacuee, and I shall share with you a couple of anecdotes she told me that highlight this:

“I was evacuated with my best friend Valerie Perry when I was 11. We said goodbye to our parents. My family were very practical and matter of fact, and I felt the same, while Valerie’s family were very touchy feely.  She was more emotional and became homesick.

‘We got into trouble there because we thought if we practised flying by climbing on to a chest of drawers and jumping on to the bed which was some way off, we would fly out of the window and go back home. This caused masses of dust under the bed that scattered everywhere.

‘Mrs Burnham who hosted us was furious. She yelled, ‘How dare you! I’m going to report you to your billeting officer.’

‘We both wrote home saying “Dear mummy, the people here are horrible to us.”  Which they weren’t, we’d embellished everything. Valerie’s mum came immediately and took Valerie home, and I was left there alone. My mum was sensible and ignored it, it had all blown over a couple of days later.’

When Jean did return to her home in Peckham, it was not the same home she’d left.

She told me:

“When I got home the roof and ceilings were down, the wall and plaster was down, the windows were out, but it didn’t bother me at all.

‘Then this bomb, a V2, suddenly came down without any notice. It was the first doodlebug. I was in the back garden and heard a buzzing aeroplane sound. I looked up and saw it had German marks on it and flames coming out of the back and I thought, ‘great, we’ve shot it down.”

‘I called my brother to see it. He looked through his binoculars and said, “I think this is a new weapon,” and he was right.’

I have another example which demonstrates Jean’s strength of character. While studying illustration at Goldsmiths in the 1940s, Jean met the very flamboyant Quentin Crisp, a writer and celebrated figure in London’s gay community and a nude model who Jean painted several times.

Jean’s connection with him was referred to in an obituary which appeared in the Washington Post, and one of their readers posted the following comment:

“The fact that Ms. Adamson illustrated a cover for Quentin Crisp’s book, who was harassed, ridiculed & beaten just for being who he was, tells me that she was ahead of her time & a good & compassionate woman indeed,” which we all know is very true.

Sadly, when Jean was 81, she was mugged in Stretham on her way to the village shop. She suffered a broken arm and terrible bruising in the cowardly attack that shocked the country.

She laughed afterwards, and told me a community officer called round to see her and left a couple of (in Jean’s words) Noddy bells with the suggestion that she attach them to her purse as some kind of alarm.

Jean had a better idea. She giggled: ‘I think I will attach them to my tortoises Mercedes and Matilda so I know where they are in the garden.’

I’d like to finish by saying it was because I felt Jean deserved recognition for her millions of book sales around the world, bringing joy to generations of children with stories they could relate to, that I nominated her for an award that led to her receiving the MBE for services to children’s literature.

This is all the more incredible when you consider that Jean and her beloved husband Gareth started writing Topsy and Tim at a time when social media hadn’t been invented; their success was purely down to word of mouth.

In our family there is a new generation of Topsy and Tim readers. At Christmas our 20 month old grandson, George, was gifted “Topsy and Tim Meet Father Christmas” by his nursery in London.

I look forward to when he is older and I can tell him I once knew the very special lady who wrote it.

Dear Jean, RIP. I do miss you. x