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.