Whose words are they, anyway?

Over on Mindfulness and Mortality, Gloria received a comment from Rupert, who always makes a good point.

Rupert tells of a celebrant (sadly one of ours, I fear), who didn't want to hand over the funeral "script" because Rupert also conducts ceremonies.

Well, of this person, I can only say - what a plonker. And this opinion is later backed up by the fact that the celebrant in question appears to have done a major cut and paste job in putting together his ceremony.

So what are the usual practices out there? Speaking for myself, I usually offer the tribute part of the script and the text of any poems or readings discussed. I don't usually offer the whole thing, mostly because it doesn't often get written that quickly. My working method is that I like to write up the tribute within a day or two of the meeting, when memory has a better chance of making up for gaps in the notes. This, I will happily send to the family (explaining that it's a first draft) in order that they can check for accuracy and tone etc.

But the rest of the ceremony, I put together (time allowing) a few days later. I like a bit of time to mull over the person I've been hearing about (while I'm doing the ironing, or similar) and try to think about what to say about life, death and the universe in relation to their lives. These thoughts may remind me of quotes, readings or poems which may be apt - Rupert makes another very valid point about using the right type of readings for the right type of people - not everyone wants Shakespeare.

And so the ceremony itself may not be put together until a little later - by which time I may also have contributions from friends and family and so can think about how best to place them. (Narrative arc, smooth flow and other such creative writing theories).

I am, of course, happy to discuss ideas with the families and to show them bits that I've written, but it's not always practical to give them a full copy of the words before the ceremony.Ideally the ceremony is written a few days before the event itself, to allow for editing, and so is still in draft stage until the day before.

The above is partly "ideal world" stuff - if there are only three days between the visit and the ceremony, then the pulling out of a finger is required, and I have to get on with it. But such ceremonies don't feel quite as polished.

I will hold my hand up and say that I, too, am a fan of the "cut and paste" function. (I tend to describe my ceremonies as "created from scratch" rather than "written from scratch").

There's a quote somewhere about the difference between plagiarism and research being the number of sources - most celebrants are magpies when it comes to finding quotes and readings. But each piece being reused is chosen for its relevance, rather than its convenience. And, at the risk of sounding immodest, I also plagiarise myself, recycling and adapting my own words, where they are right for the person concerned.

Once the ceremony is written and delivered, the words are my responsibility, but no longer my property. A hard copy is given to the family and often I will also put a copy of the transcript on CD, particularly if there are many family members, or people who are far away, to enable them to print other copies or email them where needed.

Being protective of the ceremonies that we produce is understandable, if we sweat blood to write them. But understandable is not the same as right. The words have been read publicly and nowhere does it say "(c) 2010, X Piry".

Being protective of the ceremonies that we produce, if they are largely cut and paste from other sources is just plain daft and suggests an arrogance and paranoia beyond reason.

If anyone else wants the soapbox, I think I've finished with it for now.

Len and Angie

Normal rules have been abandoned for “Don’t get too close to the furnace” this week. Usually, identities (including mine!) are protected; everyone is called Bert or Ethel, genders are changed, delays are made before telling the tales. But not this time.

In the middle of June, I received a call from a gentleman.
“Hello, we’ve just got engaged and we’re looking for a celebrant.”
“Many congratulations.”
“The wedding is in three weeks time.”
“Wow!”
“Well, that’s because my partner has cancer and has decided not to have any more treatment…..”

And that was the beginning. The next day, I went to meet Len and Angie. It was, of course, Angie who was ill. But you would never have believed it to look at her. Words like “inspiring” and “life force” are overused, but in Angie’s case, they were accurate. Her idea was to create a day of beautiful memories for her friends and, rather crucially, her sons.

So we put the wedding together; appointments were re-arranged and delayed to fit around hospital appointments etc, but it all worked. The ceremony took place in the garden of one of Angie’s friends, there were about 250 guests, children and dogs ran around happily, people sang, passages were read and the ceremony finished with Angie’s singing group (a collection of ladies of a certain age) singing a fantastic version of Born to be Wild. A brilliant wedding on a sunny day. I don’t know who took this photograph, but it sums up the togetherness of the bride and groom, the bright sunshine of the day and the happiness of the occasion.

The town that I live in is not large and most people know everybody, so I heard a week or two later that Len was ill. I dismissed this as Angie being taken poorly and was sad, but didn’t dwell on it.

Three weeks ago, another phone call.
“Hi, It’s Angie.”
“Hello, my lovely. How are you?”
“Not so good. My lovely Len died this morning.”

What I’d heard was true. Len had had some twinges of pain, thought it was an ulcer, probably worsened by a lot of running around, and dismissed it. It turned out to be pancreatic cancer and within four weeks of being diagnosed, Len had died.

So what sort of man was he? I didn’t know him well, but I liked him very much. I liked the way that he smiled and was warm and friendly. He was an artist, who loved our local area and incorporated it into his work. Len seemed to have a calm acceptance of life’s troubles – he would change what he could, and make the best of what he couldn’t. I was asked to do his funeral which had tributes from friends, live music (a woman with an absolutely amazing voice sand Lee Hazelwood’s “Your Sweet Love” while bouncing her baby on her hip!). It had laughs and tears (including mine – I had a wobble which I was cross about, but nobody else minded). Angie was, of course, there, but by this stage she was very poorly herself and had to be brought to the ceremony by private ambulance and stretcher.

I’d just like to add, at this point, that the Funeral Director was absolutely brilliant. He suggested a memorial at home, if Angie couldn’t travel. Because she was determined to be there, he arranged a double time slot (also needed for the number of mourners), making sure that Angie was looked after well. He’s one of Charles’s “recommended” funeral directors and it’s easy to see why.

So the ceremony went well, Angie was taken home and looked after while others went to the wake.

But we all knew that it wouldn't be long.

Within a week, Angie had also died. Given the deterioration in her health between me meeting her to arrange Len’s funeral and the ceremony itself, I was not surprised, but still very saddened.

So, there we all were, back at their house, with Angie’s sons, mother, neighbour etc, making the arrangements for her funeral.

What sort of woman was Angie? She was someone that I wish I had known better.

The funeral director said of her, when we were arranging Len’s ceremony, that it wasn’t as though she was bed ridden, it was like she had just forgotten to get up.

To demonstrate just how positive Angie can be, she spent some time telling me about how powerful it was to spend so much time with the man she loved as they died together, sharing feelings and emotions that most couples don’t get to share. As someone who tends towards anger in life, I found her to be more upbeat than I could possibly imagine.

Angie’s two sons are really great young men. Under the circumstances (she’s had various forms of cancer for nearly seven years), it would be completely understandable if they were obnoxious little …… but they are not, they are balanced, positive, grieving (of course) but very well adjusted young men. The are a tribute to her, and to themselves.

The funeral was another large affair, they were out the doors and in the “spare room” at the local crem where a large screen TV can be set up when there are lots there. Again there were memories and tributes from friends and relatives. Angie’s own words were read, and there was live music.

It was one of those ceremonies which is simultaneously great and awful. I didn’t cry (small, personal victory) but again, it wouldn’t have mattered.

I’m crying as I write this, partly because of the tragedy of the situation (Len was under 50, Angie was 52) but mainly because they were such great people.

All celebrants will, at some point, do ceremonies for miserable old toe rags who, through sheer bloody-mindedness, have lived until they were in their nineties, making a point of aggravating everyone that they come in contact with. But these two? They were keen volunteers for local things, friends to many, creative, intelligent and fun people. No, life isn’t fair.

To many who were there at the ceremony, Len and Angie are together again now, at a place where they had a lovely holiday, both free of pain and worry. It is comforting to think that this is may be true.

I wanted to pay tribute to Angie and Len in this piece and I feel that my words have been inadequate, but they are real, and I’ll finish in the same way that we ended Angie’s funeral, with the words of Robert Burns:

If there’s another world, she lives in bliss.
If there is none, she made the best of this.

Sometimes this job takes chunks out of us. But, my goodness, it’s an honour to do.

Some lighter moments

I whinge a lot on this blog.

That was not my intention, when I first started to write it.

I thought (and it has been proved) that I would meet a lot of fascinating people, and have lots of stories to tell and so, as a little light relief, I'd like to share a few - silly anecdotes that have made me smile.

There was the gent who tried camping. His first attempt at pitching the tent was to put it over a sewer. His second attempt resulted in the tent being set alight, so he resolved, everafter to "stick to Pontins".

There was the lady who saw a shopping list for her mother in law and added to the bottom "Mills and Boon novels, to improve her intellect."

But I think my favourite is the gent who, many decades ago, used to get together with work colleagues every couple of months, to watch.....films for discerning gentlemen. This was back in the days of cine projectors, and so this gent hung a white bedsheet at the window to use as a screen. The lads arrived, the beers (probably Double Diamond, or Watneys Red Barrel - we are talking that era) were opened and they all settled down for an evening's entertainment.

After about half an hour, there was a knock at the door, with a couple of policemen outside. When this man had hung the sheet, he hadn't drawn the curtains first and so he the sheet was acting as a screen for everyone in the road!

Back to the seriousness later (I have a difficult funeral tomorrow, which I shall no doubt share at a later date), but this is just a bit of light amid the shade.

Every now and again it's important to put the "fun" into "funeral".