Funeral Rites

Two funerals took place today: One in Merseyside (of my late uncle-Bill) and another in Bromley (of my fellow Chorister Philip Dewdney.) We chose to attend the latter, although I didn’t know until after I’d decided not to go to Bill’s that Philip’s would be the same day. Uncle Bill was my aunt’s husband but we weren’t close. It’s funny how personal relationships have changed in recent years. A generation or so ago, people usually stayed in the town where they were born, often in the same area, and the ‘family’ was the hub of the community. Now people tend to move further afield and, certainly in my case, ‘friends’ have replaced all but my immediate family as the core of my community. The simple fact is that I don’t know most of my relatives that well. We have little in common and thus little to talk about when we do meet up.

So, we went to Phillip’s funeral. Philip had been in a wheelchair since he lost a leg in an accident a few years ago, but had always been very independent; travelling everywhere he could by public transport. I knew him as another Chorus member and, last season, got to know him a bit better as I was pushing him around the stage during the Eclecsis concerts. He grew up in a world where being gay was both illegal and considered a mental illness but he always enjoyed life. He served in the Navy and played rugby until he was in his fifties.

The funeral was a Catholic Requiem Mass, but the variety of groups of Philip’s friends made the event anything but catholic. As well as the Chorus, the Cat Protection League and Gay Men Fighting Aids were present, as well as the Catenian Society which I understand is a sect of the Catholic Church and for whom Philip worked for many years. It was a good send-off for him and I think he would have liked it.

Although the crematorium service was also quite touching, it felt slightly less personal as the venue is a virtual conveyor-belt of funeral parties, in and out every fifteen minutes.

Walking around the crematorium grounds there were lots of small memorial plaques on the bricks edging the paths. There were also lots of the plaques obviously missing, with just the swirls of adhesive remaining on the bricks. It was quite sad.

I have quite clear ideas on what I want to happen after my death. I want a fairly upbeat funeral. I know that grief is a necessary part of dealing with death, but I’d rather my mourners were remembering the good times we had, rather than dwelling on the fact that there won’t be any more of them. I prefer cremation to rotting away in the ground – and anyway, by the time I expect to die, burials will probably cost a fortune because of the lack of space and who knows when the graveyard will have a shopping mall built on it! Cremation seems cleaner to me. I want my ashes scattered from the top of Ben Nevis on a bright summer’s day. That’s the memorial I’d like to have: close to the elements on a warm day with a great view in a place I love. Amen.