An extremely vivid memory from childhood—probably about seven or eight years old. Waking up and coming downstairs with an absolute, unshakable conviction that what I wanted to do with all of my spare time for the next few months was to build near-full sized fairground rides in our back garden. I don’t know where this came from; prior to that point I had no especial interest in fairground rides, beyond the annual visit to the Goose Fair. I wanted to go into the garage immediately and start measuring pieces of wood, making designs, etc. It took my parents a couple of hours to dissuade me that doing this was utterly impractical, against my deep, passionate protestations. Truly I cannot think of anything before or since that I wanted to do with such utter conviction.
Archive for the ‘Family’ Category
When I was around 10-11 years old, my parents made a shed at the back of the garden, by putting a door and roof on a small space at the back of the garage. This was used to store gardening supplies—compost, plant pots and the like—and bottles of the dubious home-made wine and beer that was popular at the time.
One summer day I decided, on a whim, that this needed a label putting on it. So, using a chisel and hammer from the garage, I gouged the words “TOOL SHED” into the paint and wood, fairly deeply. Then, realising that the shed wasn’t used to store tools, I panicked; but a simple solution came to mind. As a result I carved the word “NOT” above the word “TOOL SHED”, with an asterisk added to retain the symmetry of four letters on each line. As a result, the shed had (and retained for several years) the label:
and was thus referred to in my family for many years subsequently.
I believe that I am the only person alive who remembers this.
There was a little shop in the town where I grew up which sold local souvenirs etc., and often had pictures of the locality in the window. One day I was looking in the window of this shop with my mother, and there was a painting of the street where we lived.
Mum: “It’s Mr. Zoff.”
Me: “Who’s Mr. Zoff?”
Mum: “No—they’ve missed us off. Our house isn’t in the picture.”
From that day, any unknown artist was referred to in our family as “the famous Polish artist, Mr . Zoff”.
I am the only person alive who remembers this.
Scarborough, mid-1980’s. Sitting on the beach, which if you don’t know it has tall slopes at the side, and there are some fields at the top.
My grandmother: “Those blobs up there look just like sheep.”
My mother: “They are sheep.”
For many years afterwards, we carried on referring to sheep as “blobs”, finding that endlessly amusing in a way that is quite distinctive to family language that can be tracked down to one specific incident.
I am now the only person alive who remembers this.
My mother used to knit faster when she was getting to the end of the ball of wool, in the belief that if she went quick enough she would reach the end of the current row before the ball ran out. I have an isomorphic delusion when it comes to typing—if I want to get a certain sentence on the current line without wrapping, I will type quicker, hoping to reach the end of the line before the computer decides to put a line break in.
My mother used to work for the purchasing department at Boots, a major pharmaceutical retailer. One day, she had the following phone conversation with a rather posh sales rep:
Rep: “Good morning, I’m Miles from Nicholas Products Ltd.”
Mum: “Well, I’m miles from there too, but how can I help you?”
From my late grandmother, in the corner shop:
“I’d like an uncut sliced loaf, please.”
A conversation from many years ago between my late mother and the dentist’s receptionist:
Mum: “I’m here for the 2pm appointment.”
Receptionist: “And your husband? He is here for his appointment at 2:30.”
Mum: “No, I’m afraid I’ve lost him.”
Receptionist (with a look of deep sympathy): “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that.”
Mum: “No, I haven’t lost him; I mean he’s wandered off to the shops round the corner and I can’t find him.”
In the last few years I’ve organised the funerals for my mother and my father. As I was organising these, it struck me that this is one of those things in life that you don’t get involved with in a casual way. On the whole, only a small number of people organise a particular funeral, and so it isn’t something that you have the experience of being involved in from the sidelines. When you have to do it, you have to do it, without much to draw on.
So, I thought that I would make a few notes on my experience for the benefit of others. Obviously, my experience is limited. I organised a couple of secular cremation-based funerals in England, and I appreciate that there are lots of variants, in particular that some religious traditions support the idea of funerals happening within a day or two of the death; what I have to say may be less relevant to such situations.
I will focus on the funeral organisation itself, here. There is a process before that of registering the death, which needs to happen within a few days of the death occurring. In both of the cases I’ve been involved with, the deaths have happened in hospital, so I received a lot of guidance from the hospital about this; I can’t really say anything useful about what happens to deaths outside hospitals. The important part of this for our purposes is that the registrar will give you some paperwork that you will need for organising the funeral: importantly, for cremation, a form from a doctor certifying that there are no battery-powered implants etc. remaining in the deceased.
The starting point for arranging a funeral is to contact a funeral director. I used Baguley Brothers, and I can highly recommend them within the Nottingham area. You can make this initial contact before registering the death, but the funeral can’t go ahead before the registration. I just waited until I had sorted out the registration process. I phoned them and made an appointment to go into their offices; I suggest that you allow a good couple of hours for this appointment, it will probably only take about 45 minutes but it isn’t something that you want to rush.
At the meeting with the funeral director, you will need to make a lot of decisions. There was no particular rush, and things could be deferred or changed at a later date; but, this is what I most wished I’d known before the meeting. In particular, you will need to decide:
- Whether there will be a viewing of the deceased before the funeral itself. At my grandmother’s funeral a couple of decades ago, we did have this. It was held at the funeral directors building the morning before the funeral; her body was in its open coffin in a small chapel, and small family groups took it in turns to make a short visit. I found this creepy and didn’t have this at either of my parents’ funerals. I got the impression from talking to the funeral director that this practice is less common than it used to be.
- What kind of coffin you want. You will be given a brochure with a wide range of coffins and caskets (there is some distinction between these two terms that I can’t remember), ranging from the simple to elaborate creations bedecked with carvings of Christ on the cross; the price range was similarly varied. I chose something fairly simple and traditional, it is a dizzying and complicated choice to make and my advice would be to decide in advance whether you want anything beyond a simple, traditional coffin, and if not to just stick with that.
- Whilst we’re on the subject, all of these things like coffins come with a price list; usually, there are a range of glossy brochures and then a separate, printed price list. I found the conversation about the cost flowed fairly well, but you need to be prepared to think about budgets whilst also making these complicated decisions.
- Another choice is that of flowers. You will be asked to choose some flowers, again from a substantial brochure. A useful question to ask is how the size of the floral arrangements is compared to the coffin itself; some of the brochures will usefully display pictures that show this. My impression is that you want to have one large arrangement of flowers from the core family, which will be placed on top of the coffin during the travel to the funeral; others will be placed around the coffin.
- You need to decide about the journey to the funeral. Firstly, the practicalities of where you want the funeral procession to leave from and where to return to afterwards. Secondly, the vehicles involved. In my experience there was a default hearse and matching cars, but there was again a huge range of other choices from horse-drawn carriages to motorbike-drawn hearses and converted London buses for the mourners. The thing that is useful to decide in advance is how many people will travel in the “official” cars following the hearse; usually this is just the close family. If you have this number in mind then you can sort out how many cars are needed; in my case, where it was basically a handful of close family, only one car was needed.
- You will be asked to provide a listing for the local paper, and any national papers. You can, of course, arrange this yourself, but it was easier to do it during the meeting. They just arranged it and passed the newspaper fee onto me as part of their bill, which was one less thing to be bothered about. What you need to think about in advance is the wording of this. I was fairly clear, having thought about this on the way to the meeting, that I wanted the phrase “…died on the 31st January” rather than some euphemism; but, the important thing is to think about it in advance. You will need to choose a date for this to go into the paper; it is important to note this as other people will want to put their own notices in on the same day. In terms of choosing a date, I found it useful for this to be sufficiently long after the meeting with the funeral director so that other people have time to put their own notices in; whilst, not being so close to the funeral that people who see then notice will not be able to arrange to attend. I think we are past my grandmother’s era, where people diligently read the personal notices in the local paper each evening; but, not so far past that time that a few people won’t be drawn out by this process. My impression is that the best thing to do is to have one main, unsigned notice with details of when any where the funeral will be, and then follow this with the family tributes. I don’t know anything about how this process works for national papers.
- Whilst we’re on the subject, you also need to decide whether to say “family flowers only, donations to [charity]”, or “flowers, or donations to [charity]” or whatever. My impression is that people will give flowers if you give them the option. At my mother’s funeral, where I had said “family flowers only”, we got a handful of charity donations; I accidentally used a different wording “flowers or donations…” for my father’s funeral and all the contributions were flowers. Again, it is useful to have this in mind before going to the meeting.
- Also, you need to think about a funeral date. The funeral director will ideally want to make this decision at the meeting. In both of the funerals I arranged, the funeral happened a couple of weeks after the death. The funeral director will be able to confirm right away in the meeting which dates are available.
- You need to decide on a location. My only experience is with holding funerals in municipal crematoria. In Nottingham there is a choice of two; our funeral director was fairly direct about the advantages and disadvantages of each in terms of access, atmosphere, etc. You might want to think about this in advance if you have such a choice. In particular, it is difficult to know whether to return to the same place as previous family funerals, or whether to go to a different place. For my mother’s funeral, my uncle was fairly firm about wanting to go somewhere different to the previous few family funerals, as they had become too heavy with memories; but, on the other hand, some continuity is good in a different way.
- You will be asked whether you will provide programmes/orders of service/service sheets/whatever you call them for the funeral itself, or whether you want them to arrange for these to be printed. My impression is that it is most common now for people to print them themselves; I did this and used a single foldable A5 sheet with a photo and dates on the cover, the programme and readings inside, and some photographs and thanks on the back. For a title I used “A Celebration of the Life of…”; there are a number of variants of this, including just having the name and years. Something that I missed off when I did my mother’s funeral, which I should have included, was details of the reception after the funeral; I assumed that I would have lots of time after the funeral itself to pop around to everyone and say “you’d be welcome to come to the Bestwood Park Hotel for tea at 4 o’clock” but actually people dashed off fairly quickly.
- You will need to decide about who you want to run the funeral on the day. I wanted a non-religious funeral, and I asked if one of the funeral directors was happy to say a few words to introduce and end the ceremony. They were happy to do this (it was an unusual, but not unheard of, request) and in practice he ran the whole thing, introducing the readings and music etc. I got the impression that most people, other than those actively involved in religious congregations (I don’t have any experience of organising this kind of funeral), go for the “rent-a-vicar”, of whom the funeral director will have contact details. There are also “humanist celebrants” if you want someone to lead the service in a more active way but without religion; I don’t know much about this. I chose to have a non-religious ceremony for my mother as she was a clear and consistent atheist, and subsequently did the same for my more questioning, agnostic father—I’ve written elsewhere about why why I think even most religious people should have non-religious funerals, but that is a topic for elsewhere. On the whole, I found that the funeral director was relaxed an accommodating about my wanting a non-religious funeral; but, I did get the impression that it was rather unusual.
- You will need to pay a deposit at the meeting. This was around 20% of the total cost. I understand that some banks will be sympathetic to advancing some money to the executor of the will before the probate process is complete in order to pay funeral costs.
- You need to decide whether the cremation ashes should be scattered in the crematorium grounds, or whether you want to keep them or scatter them yourself later. This is a complex decision and I’ll write more about it one day. But, this is another thing you should think about before the meeting.
- You should make sure that you get a copy of the details that you have agreed; it is a complex process and you may need to revisit things, so having a copy of the arrangements that you have come to is useful.
After this meeting, there are a number of things to sort out. You will need to come up with a structure for the funeral. If you are having a standard religious service, this might be fairly clearly prescribed; otherwise you will need to decide upon a sequence of readings, music, etc., and give this to the funeral director so that they know what is happening. The funeral director will let you know how long you will have for the funeral; at the crematorium I used it was about 35 minutes, which sounds short but is about right. My experience was that it was harder to find people to do readings and tributes than I had imagined; a lot of people are either fearful of public speaking in general, or find it hard to imagine speaking coherently at such an emotionally charged event.
You need to take a set of clothes for the deceased to be dressed in to the funeral director. You need to print the programmes and take them to the funeral director. Remember that you, for the most part, have time to change your mind about details of the funeral up until a day or two before it happens. Most of the decisions that you make at the meeting can be readily changed.
I have focused here on the advance work of arranging the funeral. But, I would like to mention a couple of things that surprised me about the day of the funeral itself.
- If you are part of the funeral procession, the funeral starts, basically, once you arrive. My experience as a guest at funerals is that you arrive at the crematorium, church or cemetery a little before the appointed hour, and then have 20 minutes to chat and wait around before the funeral starts. I assumed that the same would be true at my mother’s funeral; that the procession would arrive, park and then I would have time to speak to people before it started. But, of course, that is not what happens. You arrive, get out the car, and within 30 seconds someone is telling you where to stand in order to follow the coffin into the building. This is obvious in retrospect but it was a shock on the day.
- There might be a little bit of paperwork to sort out before the funeral procession leaves. For example, with my mother’s funeral, I had to collect a little box of jewellery that she had been wearing and sign to say that I had safely received it.
- Another, minor thing to bear in mind is what happens to the flowers after the funeral. You will be asked whether you want to take them with you or whether you want them donating (I think they give them to local retirement homes etc.). I was happy for them to be donated (they give you the cards with the messages on), but it was a snap decision that you have to make there-and-then, and so it is probably another good thing to think about in advance.
So, that’s that. I’ve been wanting to write this for a while. Organising funerals is difficult, and one way to make them a tiny bit easier is to have some idea of the decisions that you will have to make around a funeral. I hope that this is useful to some people at a difficult time in their lives.
I’ve noticed a communication difference between people like me, who grew up in small families without much of a tradition of present-giving, to people who grew up in big, richly-connected families where dozens of people exchange presents for Christmas and birthdays.
People in the latter group often ask the question “Who bought you that?” when enquiring about some day-to-day object—a scarf, a watch, a pen that I have. I always thought that this was a weird question—why on earth would you imagine that someone bought it for me? But, of course, to people from such a background, the idea that you would ever need to buy such day-to-day tchotchkes is weird. For their whole lives they’ve never had any need to buy all these little bits and pieces, every since childhood they’ve had an endless supply of little day-to-day objects in the form of presents from cousins and great-aunts. Of course, they are in an economically neutral position, as they have had to keep up their part of the exchange.
Here is the talk that I gave at my father’s funeral a couple of weeks ago.
I am sure that you will all be as shocked as I was by my father’s death. He led an active life for eighty-nine years, and it was a shock to all of us to hear so suddenly that his life had come to an end.
This life began eighty-nine years ago in the mining village of Langwith, which provided an ideal environment for growing up. It was a place that valued hard work—a value that remained with my father throughout his life. But, it was also a place where families engaged in sport, music, church and community. This balance of work and leisure was important to him throughout his life.
Family was important to him. He enjoyed greatly growing up in a large, extended family in the village, playing with his sisters and learning from his parents and grandparents. He had two long marriages, and cared deeply about his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, all of whom are here today.
His working life was also important to him. Having decided after a few months that working in the mine was not for him, he joined the navy towards the end of the Second World War, and was active in the Arctic convoys, visiting places in Russia and Iceland along the way. Sadly, illness forced him to leave the Navy after only a few years. Once he recovered he studied hard at evening classes in Mansfield, whilst working at an electrical firm by day. This study gained him a place to train as a teacher, which was to provide the mainstay of his career. After initial training at Freckleton in Lancashire, he worked at the school in Sandiacre, where the enthusiasm of the staff provided an inspiring start for his career. He trained further at Loughborough, specialising in woodwork and other crafts, an interest that he retained throughout his life—he was always making and repairing things. This laid the foundation for a career that saw him teaching in schools throughout Derbyshire and Nottinghamshire. He also had many other jobs, most notably as a driving instructor, and I am sure that he taught many people in this room to drive—a difficult task that showed his care and patience.
Whilst teaching he also took an active role in sports, in particular coaching school football teams. Physical fitness was important to him, and he was very proud of the fact that he could still run and swim well into his eighties. He also enjoyed watching sport. He would travel around the country to race meetings, and particularly enjoyed the cricket matches in Nottingham—I understand that not all that many years ago, following a particularly successful England victory, he was wheeled across Trent Bridge in a shopping trolley by his son Keith!
Whilst he was at Loughborough, he wrote a study on the design and construction of public clocks in the region as his final project. To finish, I would like to read a little from this:
“I have had the pleasure, on many occasions, of visiting a Nottingham clock factory which, apart from providing domestic clocks and other instruments, has a workshop devoted to the manufacture and repair of turret clocks. […] The craftsmen constructing this type of clock appear to get plenty of satisfaction from their work. I suppose that this is because they are able to see the job through all its stages and have the delight of seeing it work when finished. In these days when mass production and specialisation abound, most craftsmen are not so fortunate as the turret clock maker who can still enjoy the same ‘pride of achievement’ which the old hand-craftsman derived from his work.”
There was an interesting discussion on AskMetafilter a week or so ago about whether a parent had the right to fine a minor for swearing in the family home, especially when the money being taken away had been independently earned by the child.
One of the interesting arguments used by people in favour of the fine was “my house, my rules”; that the child lives in a house provided by the parents, and should therefore defer to that provider. An interesting hypothetical is to consider how this could be enforced in law.
Presumably, the basis for this in the “general position”, where there is no parental responsibility between the parties involved, is that the provider of the service can set arbitrary conditions on the providee, within the bounds of the law. If I want to let out a room in my house, it is reasonable for me to set a condition like no smoking, compulsory communal singing every morning, or the saluting of the house flag. If the lessor doesn’t like it, they are free to rent elsewhere.
But, this doesn’t apply in the family case. The child doesn’t have the ready right to move to an arbitrary other home; they are constrained to live within the family home. It would seem that the “my house, my rules” defence can’t apply here, as the necessary freedom of action doesn’t obtain.
This raises interesting questions about the rule of law within families. Do we, in general, believe that it does obtain? I think if asked the question, we might say that it does, but the reality is different. Clearly, the vast majority of us would believe that serious crimes within the family should be treated normally. But lesser issues less so—many jurisdictions, for example, allow a certain class of physical attacks on the child by the parent to be exempt from criminal status, which would exist if those attacks were carried out on a arbitrary individual. So far, we are still within the rule of law sensu strictu—there is an exception, agreed via a democratic and legally sound process, to the general argument that it is illegal to hit someone. But the ground is getting boggier. It get boggier still when we move onto crimes like theft. Is it theft for a parent to take away a child’s property? If I, through menace or surreptition, take some money from my neighbour, I am a thief; if a parent does the same to a child, is it still theft?
Parents in general treat the idea that their child has legal rights with a mixture of contempt and dismissive amusement. Perhaps we need to see a shift in this? Certainly, just a couple of generations ago, the idea that wives had recourse to law in matters such as assault and rape was treated with similar derision. I also worry about the greater implications here for the child’s learning about the rule of law; if the idea that they have no legal recourse is established in their mind through minor issues about property, will they apply the same reasoning when the issue is a serious one?
I’ve been thinking back to by mother’s funeral on the occasional of the one-year anniversary, and particularly thinking about non-religious funerals. In fitting with my mother’s atheism (or “being a bloody heathen” as she put it), I of course organised an entirely non-religious funeral, which acted as a joyous celebration of her life and included lots of her favourite music and readings, as well as giving family and friends a chance to talk about her life.
I was talking to someone about religious funerals last week, and they were saying that at the last religious funeral they attended, the service consisted of one-and-a-half minutes of talk about the deceased, and 28-and-a-half minutes of talking about Jesus.
Occasionally, usually on the kind of “and finally…” type slot that Trevor McDonald used to do at the end of the news, we here about someone who had a themed funeral relating to an interest that they were passionate about—Elvis, or windsurfing, or whatever. Lots of people find this kind of funeral rather undignified and naff.
Yet, when we have a religious funeral, even for someone for whom religion was only a small part of their life, the religious aspect dominates completely. Perhaps we should find this just as naff. Why do we allow this one aspect of a life to dominate so strongly at the celebration of a complex and rich life? By all means, have the religious-themed funeral, much as we allow the Elvis funeral, for the deeply committed. But for the average punter, who has a religion as just one part of a complex life, why not represent this by one small token in the ceremony, and celebrate the remaining aspects of a life well lived in the remainder?
When my dad was in the Boys Brigade back in the 1930s, he learned Indian Club Swinging, a style of exercise that has become popular again in recent years. I recently took some video of him demonstrating this; here it is:
Also, I’ve discovered that it isn’t very easy to Google “club swinging” without lots of ads for “swingers clubs” popping up—something very different indeed!
Here is the talk that I gave at my mother’s funeral this week.
I am sure that you are all as shocked as I was by my mother’s death. It was only a few weeks ago that she was up and about, enjoying her life and going about her normal activities. Whilst she had been ill for a while, it was only in the last couple of months that this got in the way of her living a full life.
This life began when she was born at home in 1939, and the experience of living through the war and growing up in the post-war period shaped her life enormously. She was baptised at the local church – St. Paul’s, Daybrook – and went to the local schools – Burford, Seely and Haywood, as well as being active in the Sunday School at Arnold Road church. She had an active life as a young woman, being involved in ice skating, tennis and badminton, and enjoyed music, ranging from Dickie Valentine and Cliff Richard through to light classical music.
Her working life was mostly spent at Boots, where she started out working in the typing pool, and had an enjoyable working life, ending up working as a secretary to senior managers in the company. She made a number of friends at work who stayed with her throughout her life – whilst many of her close friends pre-deceased her, I am pleased to see that there are some here today. She had an equally rich family life, and will be much missed by me and by my father. For many years her own mother lived with her, and she was always very kind and considerate in looking after her.
She took early retirement in the early 1990s and was active in that retirement. She enjoyed her home life, and enjoyed keeping a comfortable house and the pleasures therein, in particular enjoying cooking and gardening, at which she was very green-fingered, being able to grow everything from little flowers to huge trees from a little seed or shoot, as well as making things for her house through her interests in sewing and knitting, She enjoyed the country life, and was very happy to move a few years before retirement to her house in Arnold, which she particularly liked because the local countryside was only a few minutes walk away. Throughout her life, and particularly in her retirement, she would often go for walks in the local area.
When I was sorting through her papers a few days ago I found a little note (she liked to write down little quotes that she had heard on the radio and television) saying “growing old is compulsory; growing up is optional”. I think that that is a positive note on which to end this tribute.