I thought death was a better title than funerals which is what this trial is really about. Funerals are dignified, sombre occasions, a platform for respect, but there are those times when one cannot help but see the humour of the event that I believe those who have gone before us may well be sharing in and happy that we can still find something to laugh about.
Let's start with the funeral service. A friend of mine has the memory of the first funeral he ever attended indelibly engraved in his mind. He couldn't remember who had actually died, but could remember the funeral parlour very distinctively. It was situated beneath several first floor flats, the significance of which will become apparent. He and several other young male relatives filed into the back row of the chapel, sat under the stern and watchful eye of his mother taking little interest in the proceedings, until the point where the minister or preacher presiding invited the mourners to look up to heaven.
Now adolescent boys are very open to the power of suggestion and did exactly what the minister said, only to discover that an occupant of one of the upstairs flats had hung their washing out. They could only assume the anonymous washer-person to be a horizontally challenged elderly lady, due to the fact that the majority of freshly laundered items of clothing were extra large knee length knickers. A high percentage of the population would have derived a degree of mirth at the said scene coupled with the commentary, but to a group of young schoolboys it was hilarious. Suppressing uncontrollable laughter is a difficult exercise for most of us but for those who are too young to have achieved a high level of self-discipline in inappropriate behaviour, it was impossible.
Once they looked, the more they were compelled to look and irrespective of the murderous and disapproving looks from Mother, the more they wanted to laugh. Even the prospect of what they were about to receive on returning home was an insufficient deterrent in terms of irrepressible laughter. So the moral of the story is, for those of you who have the hindsight to plan your funeral in advance, select your funeral parlour and mourners with care.
A funeral service which sticks in my own mind, was that of a relative of my husbands. When the minister officiating arrived, I couldn't help but notice a somewhat less than conspicuous collection of books under his arm to which I raised an eyebrow. During the service, he explained that the deceased had been an ardent reader and he had brought along a few books of his own in order to read one or two selected passages from them. Expecting a tasteful poem or passage from a favourite novel of the deceased, I was surprised that the ministers choice of reading was an account of someone leaping over a cliff onto rocks below and guts splattering all over the place. Compelling literature perhaps, but I wouldn't have thought a funeral was the forum to recount such a graphic description of death and as the book hadn't even been read by the deceased, it couldn't be explained by the fact that it was a piece of literature he held in high esteem. The moral of this story? When planning a funeral vet both the presiding minister and the content of the service in advance.
Now those who officiate at funerals do not perhaps intentionally add humour to the occasion, but sometimes they do and on reflection can see the funny side themselves. A Parish Priest related to me how at one particular funeral he spent a longer period of time with relatives at the house than his schedule allowed and as a result, found he was running late. He rushed to the cemetery to find that the funeral cortege had arrived before him and were already gathered at the graveside.
He apologized for his lateness and had a quick look round to check that everything was in order, during which his attention was drawn to the fact that the nameplate on the coffin was not were he would have expected it to be and there was no crucifix on the coffin. He looked at the undertakers and not only did he not recognise them, he didn't recognise the mourners either! Yes, he'd got the wrong funeral. Fortunately everyone saw the funny side, including the Church of Ireland minister whose parishioner he'd just tried to poach. Therefore, the moral of this story is; don't be late for your own funeral, you never know who might bury you.
Graveyards, most of the ones I have been in anyway, seem to be exceptionally vulnerable to the elements, particularly wind. The majority of funerals I have attended were held at a large Belfast cemetery, which even on a summers day with not a breath of wind anywhere else, is like standing in the middle of a hurricane. It also encompasses the provinces only crematorium, the entrance of which is covered by a low arch. Attending a funeral at said crematorium on a particularly windy day, we arrived just as the local high school, whose name shall remain anonymous, was ferrying classmates of the daughter of the deceased to the funeral, and no sooner had the words "He"s not going to make that' left my husbands lips as the school minibus attempted to pass under the arch, than his premonition came true and lumps of metal flew around the cemetery crashing into headstones and trees leaving the said minibus complete with a sunroof.
