I just got back from a 36 hour flying visit to Wales for a family funeral. To say that a funeral is an emotionally charged occasion is an understatement. Myriad memories of the deceased are relived. A panoply of tales are told with a twinkle in the storyteller’s eye.
My Aunt was a character and a half, and then some. She shone very brightly. She was totally bonkers. Nice bonkers of course. The cars lining the leafy b-roads leading to the crossroads where the tiny chapel is situated told the tale of her popularity. She was a much loved woman.
There weren’t enough pews for everyone. Her friends and acquaintances overflowed into the vestry, where the funeral tea was served afterwards.
On our way up, I pleaded for a pitstop at the bakery in town as I desperately needed a little something to keep me going before the funeral. My family went ahead without me as I wolfed down my scalding hot crispy savoury snack in the car. It was a significant improvement on the mass produced slightly anaemic sausage roll I got at the services the day before, but that filled a gap. My hunger meant I had to go into the small intimate chapel on my own. My worst nightmare! There was no room for me until my considerate cousins cosied up. I breathed a sigh of relief as I nestled in.
It was quite a long service and a loving tribute to our Annie. A storm was forecast, rendering the chapel airless and stuffy. After the vicar greeted us, the service started with the singing of one of my favourite hymns, Calon Lân. The organist played beautifully for almost an hour as we congregated in the chapel. The singing was heartfelt and most definitely Welsh. There’s always a welcome in the hillsides. Music was a focal point and the service was brought to its close with a recording of a simple stunning male and female duo featuring some chromatic harmonisation that was very easy on the ear.
The wake was very busy and smalltalk was difficult with a crescendo of voices clamouring to find out the latest news. Tea always tastes exceptionally good at funerals, the piping hot brew served up from giant teapots soothing the souls of those who’d come to pay their last respects. Buttered bara brith and icing sugar dusted sponge cakes sweetened our sorrows and offered a metaphoric hug to mourners.
Mam was a bit subdued. Quite a few of her friends have passed away recently. She told me about one friend who had fallen, struck her head and died immediately. What a blessing, I thought to myself. If I had a choice, I’d like to go like that. No long debilitating agonising illness that robs me of any remaining dignity please. I’d like to be healthy and mobile with as many of my marbles as possible.
I got a bit upset just before I drove back. I didn’t see my eldest nephew at all and saw too little of the twins who had their own social agendas to attend to rather than mess about with their daft flaky aunt. It’s tough spending snippets of time with family to return home where I feel rather rootless at the moment. I have this feeling of stripping back the layers and being so very exposed and vulnerable as my defences are taken away one by one. Music, my safe hiding place, is less available to me at the moment and although I find some solace in writing and spending time safe in my nest up here in the attic, it doesn’t provide the same emotional and artistic nourishment that live performance does.
On Sunday I visited close friends on my way to Wales. Tea was brewed just as I arrived and we went to the local award winning chippy for a Sunday special of cod, chips and mushy peas with a side of order of battered gherkins. Wow, how good were they?! Tart and vinegary and just the right texture. Who’d have thought? Small tubs of ice cream were on special offer and although they weren’t nearly as nice as the ice cream we had in Sardinia, dark chocolate won. I rein it in but I’d fight over ice cream. Sundae spoons were drawn after noon.
Wanting to spend as much time engaged with other humans as I could, I was dismayed to be overcome by postprandial fatigue. My consolation was that it was the kind of situation where I could whip off my boots, dangle my feet over the end of the sofa, put my sunglasses on and comfortably go into a deep coma for half an hour. Never mind FOMO, it would have been rude not to!
There was a cracking golden red yolky sunset when I left town this evening and as I drove up towards home, it was into mist, but that summery sort of mist that brings with it good weather. Lord knows, we need it. I swapped this afternoon’s shift with one of my colleagues so I could attend the funeral, so I’ve got a double whammy 8 hour shift on Wednesday. Sunshine wouldn’t half sugar coat those hours. It is what it is, and I wouldn’t have it any other way!
I love/hate funerals. They’re a poignant excuse for a family get together. “Why don’t we meet more often?” were words I heard again and again at the wake.
Why don’t we?
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