Is it for the person who has died, or for their grieving family? Sometimes, you can look around the room when meeting the family and spot the one person that it's all for and about, usually a daughter, often a "Daddy's girl", but that, perhaps is a different story.
But who is the funeral for when there aren't any mourners?
I'm not talking about the war veterans who appear to be friendless and whose funerals have a large attendance thanks to social media campaigns, I'm talking about the people who choose to be alone.
A few years ago, I was talking to a bearer, who was telling me about a "council" funeral, where there were no mourners. In many cases, the bearers will stay in the chapel and hear the vicar's service, paying their respects, not wanting anyone to be alone on that last journey. On that particular day, sadly, it being wintertime and busy, the bearer had to go to another crematorium for another ceremony and the vicar was on his own with the FD.
This stayed with me for a long time. What would I do in such circumstances? For a start, I don't have a "standard ceremony" that I could fall back on, like those little hardback books at the crem. Of course, something would be written and delivered, but it would feel a bit "cobbled together".
And what would I say? If there really was nobody able to tell me about the deceased, what tribute could I pay?
This still hasn't happened, but I came pretty close, just recently. My dealings were with Bert's solicitor as there was no known family. There was a neighbour who had chatted to him casually, but that gent was on holiday until the day before the ceremony. The solicitor had only met Bert twice, in the local hospice, while sorting out his affairs.
When I spoke to her, she said that she was going to Bert's bungalow to see if she could find an address book. Risking cheekiness, I asked if I could go with her and, thankfully she said yes.
It was the only chance I had to find out anything about Bert but, my goodness, it felt weird. I didn't want to go rummaging too deeply but wanted to find out a bit about the man that he had been.
It was not a comfortable experience, rifling through someone's music collection to get a find out if they were more into Mantovani or Meatloaf. Glancing along their bookshelves, hoping for clues of their interests. And as for the DVD collection? Well, Bert was a chap living on his own...not all of the films were Hollywood Blockbusters.
Sometimes the hints are small. I switched on his kitchen radio, just to see if it was tuned to Radio 4, local commercial radio, or Jazz FM.
The trip to his bungalow helped but there was still a lot of guesswork. Yes, we could play music from his own collection, but is that enough? I have a vast CD collection, but I'm not sure that anyone would guess from it, what tracks I'd like played at my send off.
We did find an address book and a cousin was identified. Bless them, they travelled over a hundred miles to come to the funeral. For someone they hadn't seen in decades, I thought that was a very good show.
I did actually say "John Donne famously said that 'No man is an island', but Bert made a good attempt at it" during the ceremony. I talked about the things that we knew (it was Radio 3, by the way). We played some music. We tried our best. I suggested that although we are, usually, social creatures, we cannot assume that Bert's life was unhappy or lonely; he made his choices and we must respect them.
Yet still it plays on my mind.
Who was the ceremony for and why did we have it? Well, certainly Bert wanted one - he'd left instructions about it but only scant details.
The congregation was the solicitor and her assistant, the neighbour, the cousin and spouse and the FD. I didn't go on too long; it didn't seem right. But the whole thing felt oddly incomplete.
This may be about our very human need for ritual; our dislike of seeing someone friendless at the end of their life (there but for the grace of.....)
Maybe it's just about being human.
In Memory of Anyone Unknown
to Me by Elizabeth Jennings
At this particular time I have no one
Particular person to grieve for, though there must
Be many, many unknown ones going to dust
Slowly, not remembered for what they have done
Or left undone. For these, then, I will grieve
Being impartial, unable to deceive.
How they lived, or died, is quite unknown,
And, by that fact gives my grief purity--
An important person quite apart from me
Or one obscure who drifted down alone.
Both or all I remember, have a place.
For these I never encountered face to face.
Sentiment will creep in. I cast it out
Wishing to give these classical repose,
No epitaph, no poppy and no rose
From me, and certainly no wish to learn about
The way they lived or died. In earth or fire
They are gone. Simply because they were human, I admire.
At this particular time I have no one
Particular person to grieve for, though there must
Be many, many unknown ones going to dust
Slowly, not remembered for what they have done
Or left undone. For these, then, I will grieve
Being impartial, unable to deceive.
How they lived, or died, is quite unknown,
And, by that fact gives my grief purity--
An important person quite apart from me
Or one obscure who drifted down alone.
Both or all I remember, have a place.
For these I never encountered face to face.
Sentiment will creep in. I cast it out
Wishing to give these classical repose,
No epitaph, no poppy and no rose
From me, and certainly no wish to learn about
The way they lived or died. In earth or fire
They are gone. Simply because they were human, I admire.
