A hat, a hat, my kingdom for a hat! Where was my hat? The smart black hat you can see me wearing in my signature picture.
I looked in the top hat sections of wardrobes. Then I saw my pile of large brimmed fancy summer hats on top of the bookcase in the hall. Great. Until I pulled them down. Covered in dust!
No time to wash. Bang them - not over the food - outside the back door.
The day of the funeral was a Monday, not our choice, but the earliest we could have the funeral. The hospital needed time to get the certificates allowing burial to the funeral directors, allowing time for a possibility of an autopsy, because you cannot cremate too quickly because a buried body can be exhumed if there is any query but once the body is cremated it's too late.
Then the funeral directors had to contact the crematoriums to see when they had availability, and because of the high number of deaths (among the elderly) due to winter/spring flu, slots were not available. We had decided against going to other cemeteries because of the time and distance of travel between them and the preferred lunch venue.
Driving and Directions
We saw the body at the nearby funeral directors' chapel, then drove ourselves to the crematorium.
I had carefully emailed everybody with the address of the crematorium including the postcode for satnavs, the website and pointed out that clicking on the website gives you directions from your location to the destination, and the phone number of the crematorium in case anybody got lost
In my large handbag I had my vital speech on a sturdy A5 clipboard so the paper would not shake noisily if I were nervous, and it could quickly be found in my copious bag.
I had a packet of paper tissues in my right hand pocket in case anybody got the sniffles.
I had bought a bag of dried mango from Tesco Express kosher section, in case anybody was so strictly kosher that they could not eat our food without checking the label.
In my large handbag I had my vital speech on a sturdy A5 clipboard so the paper would not shake noisily if I were nervous, and it could quickly be found in my copious bag.
I had a packet of paper tissues in my right hand pocket in case anybody got the sniffles.
I had bought a bag of dried mango from Tesco Express kosher section, in case anybody was so strictly kosher that they could not eat our food without checking the label.
Who Got Lost?
That was because a) at my 93-year-old father's funeral, one of his elderly cousins went to the wrong cemetery and missed the event, arriving, crestfallen and panic-stricken, apologising, disappointed, after we'd left, reaching our reception venue when half the visitors had gone along with most of the food. I also knew in addition to a crematorium not being in a regular high street, it's a timed event, only half an hour, a funeral is a stressful occasion which makes some people procrastinate especially those of my family who are not great time-keepers on happy occasions.
I had also put the details of the address and postcode and phone number in my mobile phone in case of need.
Danish pastries waiting for us at home
I travelled with our friend, Peter, who had organised the catering and who had collected the freshly made food, to deliver it to the address of the relative (grandson) whose nearby home was the lunch venue.
Peter had collected bridge rolls, fish balls, Danish pastries and apple strudel.
I had previously visited the room and been glad to see that the table was clear and I had put out the chairs and left the tablecloths - to be placed on the table on the Monday morning, the day of the funeral, not early, to be sure they stayed clean.
Peter had collected bridge rolls, fish balls, Danish pastries and apple strudel.
I had previously visited the room and been glad to see that the table was clear and I had put out the chairs and left the tablecloths - to be placed on the table on the Monday morning, the day of the funeral, not early, to be sure they stayed clean.
Cloths on the table, done, milk in the fridge, fish in the fridge, bowls for the fishbowls, plates, crockery, urn filled with water, tea and coffee and sugar and spoons. Where were the tea cups!
Total panic finding espresso cups - and mugs, but only half a dozen cups and matching saucers. (When we returned for the buffet lunch, we found the missing cups, gratifyingly sparkling clean, hiding in the dishwasher.)
After the tea cup delay, another much longer delay. On the Saturday we had put up a new patio table. But it did not come with chairs. The four old patio chairs needed cleaning. It was no fun trying to clean patio chairs while not getting mould nor carpet cleaning spray on a funeral outfit complete with large-brimmed hat.
Despite this, having nearly got everybody to the street safely, the grandson following another car managed to drive past the entrance and disappear up the road. So we started five minutes late.
We ran one minute over time, so we were four minutes short of the booked 30 minutes. He who paid for the funeral, father of the missing boy, was watching his watch.
Breakspear Crematorium
The first thing I did was take the first door to my right leading the men and women behind me into the toilets. That was a mistake. The funeral director called us all back to the correct, second on the right door.
We mourners entered the crematorium first. Then the coffin was carried in by four men, I presume supplied by the funeral directors, probably staff permanently at the crematorium.
No wheeling, creaking contraption.
An coffin carried overhead was much less ghoulish than it being wheeled in like a body on a stretcher, like your loved one on a hospital bed - but this time in a coffin.
A totally new image, not to be mixed up in your mind with past images of the deceased, nor brought to mind viewing future hospitalisations. Not low, so you feel nervous somebody might be overcome by emotion and throw themselves sobbing onto the coffin, nor look unfeeling if failed to do so.
The son of the deceased had prepared an order of service with a picture of the deceased.
We had three pieces of music, two poems read by the Funeral Celebrant, Michael Gordon, a quietly spoken, calm and soothing man. He did not dominate nor distract from the family but smoothed the way though the proceedings.
We had been asked if we wanted an order of service and initially declined. But I though it would be nice to have a picture of Pearl in happier times, and something to keep as a souvenir, also to know the music, and the titles and authors of the poems. After we had done the first draft of the order of service, I thought it would be good to have the address of the lunch venue on the back because even though it had been emailed earlier, and it would be announced, people would not have pencils ready at the crematorium and they might want the postcode handy for their satnav.
The only thing I might have changed, or removed, at the crematorium, was the cross. We had specified a secular funeral. However, we seemed to have flowers either side of the cross, perhaps placed there by the previous celebrants or by the crematorium or funeral directors. As we were benefitting from the flowers it seemed churlish to demand the removal of the superfluous cross.
In retrospect, I do not object. In the event, we had changed the service to include the Jewish kaddish, which does not mention death but affirms belief in the goodness of God, in Hebrew. So with secular poems, the Jewish Kaddish, and a Christian cross, although we had not completely satisfied anybody who wanted the whole service geared for their own belief or lack of it, we had managed to provide a little something to please three different groups likely to be present in a multicultural gathering.
The flowers were lovely. Everybody liked them. Especially me. When I stopped rushing around I just looked at them, because I could not eat nor find the energy to speak.
I was literally ill from the end of the lunch for another 48 hours, nauseous and tired. I thought I might have flu, but the family thought it was the excitement and stress of rushing around, organising the food and giving one of the two speeches at the funeral.
Two days later I recovered my appetite. The magenta orchids bought by neighbours are a warming, reviving colour and distraction. The smiling face of Pearl on the order of service is something I keep looking at to blot out the recent memories. The funeral was when friends and family came from across the country and from overseas to help us cope.
I keep remembering the words my friend Lucia said to me at an earlier funeral, 'Her death and funeral were only two days in her life, and she wasn't even aware of her funeral. Think of all the other wonderful days you shared with her.'
Brakespear Crematorium
Ruislip
Michael Gordon, Funeral Celebrant
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