Post 448: No tears of sadness anywhere, just tears of joy.
It’s too hot to wear a suit - that’ll be madness. It’s 34 degrees now and, in an hour, at 5 pm, it will not be much cooler, so My Darling’s advice is, “No suit, Mr U.”
But three months ago I had already decided what I was going to wear to see my Mum’s remains be placed forever into her mother’s grave.
Nothing changes, so Mr U will, as planned, scoop up the suit and look as smart as he can be for this, the most important of days.
We meet in the dusty driveway to the ancient church that the recently late Queen occasionally worshipped at until her cousin died. It’s just the local church to me and my siblings, and it brings to mind all the things that happened here. Weddings, funerals, vespers, bell-ringing on Fridays, and Sunday services too - this little church had our full attention when we were kids.
Things haven’t changed much, and there is a sleepy feel to the place that I’d forgotten, oozing out of the picture-postcard image of the stone-walled church as we park up in the time-honoured way.
The air conditioning in the car has left us in good shape for the short service, but that’s not for another half hour. As my sister and brothers are now here, it’s time enough to wander over, greet them and go and find the grave.
The fact is that, even with only my waistcoat on, it’s still really hot. This is going to be a very warm few moments in the hands of the clergy, so I’m hoping there’s a chance it can be short and sweet in view of the heat.
As we walk under the lichgate, where the only shade can be found, we all begin looking for the grave.
How is it that memory can be so infallible? We all head off following me towards the place I knew to be “Nan’s grave”. The intense heat pushed down on us, but as we weaved towards the goal my sister was saying, “It’s not over there, it’s here somewhere,” pointing with her pink carnations in hand.
I ploughed on regardless, although my confidence was beginning to wane as we went farther across the churchyard. Then, finally, I caught sight of the sweet little headstone amongst the others, all much bigger.
It was now obvious the service would be here, but we were still arguing amongst ourselves with our sketchy memories of the past and how, in our minds, the grave had somehow moved. Ha ha.
Her carnations were soon placed into the flower vase, and we were pleased and surprised that the grass surrounding the grave had been cut. At least this meant My Darling wouldn’t have to wade through knee-length grass with her poorly calf.
I left Big Sis there prettifying the headstone with pink carnations and headed around the back of the church looking for water and shade.
We found neither, but we did bump into the gravedigger, who was quietly keeping out of the way behind the church while we wandered around looking for other long-dead relatives lying nearby.
As it happened, the eighty-plus-year-old gravedigger was known to my brother-in-law, so he had a chat with us and quickly worked out who would be using his services that afternoon.
It was us.
His advice was that Friar John would make an appearance exactly on time, as was his way, so not to panic just yet about him not being in sight.
We all wandered back around the far side of the graveyard, while the gravedigger returned to his preparations, and gathered beneath the shade of the lichgate.
I collected my jacket from the car and the ashes to hand to Friar John, who had just arrived. If I thought it was hot in my suit, it was nothing compared with the sweat pouring from the Friar’s face as we shook hands and he quietly talked me through the service as he saw it.
And now it was time.
Everything was in place.
The day and time had come.
I didn’t feel sad.
I felt happy.
Happy that, in the very best way, Mum was about to be laid where she was meant to be all along. This was right. This was real. This was now.
But in that heat it was hard on everyone.
The little service was meant to be short and sweet, but it wasn’t. By the time Mum’s remains had been gently emptied into the small but deep hole, there was a shuffling to my right where my nieces were standing.
The ashes now filled the hole, which looked as though it was smoking in the heat from its depths. My eldest niece was suddenly sitting on the ground as though she simply couldn’t remain standing, and as the prayers continued after the readings, the other niece collapsed gently onto the neighbouring grave.
Oh no.
I helped out in a small way and whispered that they should both be left where they were while their mum repeatedly asked, “Are you OK?” trying to revive her poor sweet sixteen-year-old.
The gravedigger appeared with some water, and the prayers paused briefly before continuing to their conclusion with the Lord’s Prayer.
By the end everyone was relieved, and equally relieved to leave the scorching sunshine behind.
The niceties completed and the ashes-to-ashes truly complete, we could finally go.
The solemnity was replaced by cuddles and kisses, especially for the girls who had briefly lost their composure and fainted in perfect sync with Nannie’s own famous ability to faint at will.
They’re carrying on the tradition! Ha ha.
When we all arrived at Big Sister’s home we were simply happy that nothing serious had happened, and now we could enjoy a tea party in Mum’s name.
Boy, oh boy, what a feast we had.
There were individual trifles, the biggest array of McVitie’s cakes I think I’ve ever seen, iced gems, chocolate fingers, homemade sardine broomsticks, and fruit of every description - fresh local strawberries, cherries, pineapple - together with onions and cheese on cocktail sticks, all the things we remembered Mum putting out whenever she held a tea party.
Cool drinks, laughter and chatter were all you could hear as time flew by and the plates slowly emptied.
Everything that was good played out on the day of Mum’s last journey, and now she was with her own Mum.
Fantastic.
After four years of having her by my side, she has finally gone home.
The drive home was lovely, as was another bottle of local champagne to celebrate Mum’s life and times.
The photographs reminded us not only of her, but of all her ancestors too - a long succession of family lying in that churchyard I’ve known since I was a small boy in shorts.
A true circle of life, and one that leaves me with good feelings, not bad ones.
Full of cake and full of memories, the day was perfect.
My Darling’s leg is still improving and the bruising is still coming out, but we are all content.
Another chapter has closed and the flowers are laid.
Goodnight Mum.
I love you still.
Take care.
