Tyrant chic

In the aftermath of Kim Jong-il’s funeral in North Korea, we learn that those of his subjects who didn’t cry hard enough or convincingly enough, together with those who did not attend official mourning events, are being rounded up and herded into labour camps. Sentences start at six months. More in the Daily Mail here

Meanwhile, the dead dictator is, we hear, to be disembowelled and embalmed for the lasting enjoyment of his people. It is rumoured that the work will be carried out by the Russian corpse-preservation team which looks after Lenin. 

In order to keep him in mid-season form, Lenin, whose afterlife now numbers 87 years, has to have a month-long restorative formaldehyde bath every eighteen months. While being gazed at by his adoring public a little pump in his chest cavity maintains the correct order cialis viagra online humidity in his insides. 

Woe betide any dead dictator who doesn’t get the Russians in to do it. The Chinese did it their way for Chairman Mao and, working from text books, cocked it up. They pumped in so much formaldehyde ‘n’ stuff that Mao swelled up most remarkably and embalming fluid was seen to seep through his pores. 

A worse fate awaited Klement Gottwald, president of Czechoslovakia, who died in 1953. They didn’t get the experts in for him, either. First his legs rotted and had to be replaced with prostheses. By 1962 the whole of him was in a dreadful state, so they cremated him.  

Moral of the story: don’t try this at home. 

Quote of the day

“Death can only be profitable: there’s no need to eat, drink, pay taxes, offend people, and since a person lies in a grave for hundreds or thousands of years, if you count it up the profit turns out to be enormous.”

Anton Chekov, 1894

Let’s go somewhere nice

Posted by Charles

So badly has the image of the co-operative movement been damaged by Co-operative Funeralcare it’s easy to forget that, actually, the model of co-operation retains both its beauty and its potency.

A bunch of people come together “to meet their common economic, social, and cultural needs and aspirations through jointly owned and democratically controlled enterprise,” in the words of the International Co-operative Alliance here. It’s an old and resilient idea characterised by periodic renewal and resurgence. Look at the growth of, both, credit unions in recent times, and the community-owned village shop movement supported by the Plunkett Foundation here. Burial societies probably originated in England. The most notable now are the burial societies of Jewish communities — the chevra kadisha — here

In some commercial sectors co-operation doesn’t seem to work at all any more. Supermarkets, for example. On the Isle of Portland, The Co-operative Food enjoyed for years the nearest thing to a monopoly. When Tesco opened in competition last summer it was marvellous to behold the good, working people of the island blinking in delight at the vaster range of choice and far lower prices – before deserting the Co-op in droves; our two Co-op stores now stand shunned and empty. Moral: when you can no longer enable working people to buy things they would not otherwise be able to afford you render yourself, if you’re a co-operative, pointless. Butt out.

The Co-operative Group is a disappointment. And we look for things to celebrate here at the GFG, so we are pleased to recommend the small, Edinburgh-based Scotmid Co-op  Society’s funeral service, admirably run and entirely ethical, here, and we have our eye on Clydebank Co-op which, in a sideswipe at The Co-operative Group, we understand, describes itself as a ‘real co-op’ here.

No, there’s nothing wrong with the model of co-operation. But applied to funerals in an altogether more radical way than it is now, it seems to me, it could actually cause a beautiful revolution in attitudes to death and bereavement. In order to bolster this theory I set off in search of examples and inspiration before testing it on you. 

I visited the US. There are very few funeral proper co-ops over there, but there’s one you might like to check out here.

There’s a group of funeral co-ops in the west of Canada dedicated to enabling people to have funerals which are ‘simple, dignified and affordable’. From what I can see, none of these co-ops does more than contract with local funeral homes to provide such funerals, and they set great store by having no business relationships with the funeral industry, as you can see here (click About). There’s a consumer activist element to these co-op societies– here. And there’s an idealistic element, of course. But the financial benefit seems, disappointingly, to be the big attraction – here. Members get the best deal, non-members pay more. Check out the Memorial Societies of Canada here.

In a different league is the Prince Edward Island Co-operative Funeral Homes group in the east of Canada. Here we have seven funeral homes, each belonging to its own society with its own membership, board of directors and history. The big difference? Each society employs its own staff in its own funeral home. Here’s a typical story, from Hillsboro:

In September of 1992 the funeral coop held its first funeral and the second followed in November. As well in the fall of 1992 the first space was rented in the Bunbury Mall and from there the Hillsboro Funeral Cooperative continued to grow.

In 1993 a ten year old hearse was purchased and in 1994 a van was purchased. As well in 1994 the negotiation for the current site were completed and in the fall of 1997 a sod turning ceremony took place with the completion of the building in January of 1998.

In 1999 a position of General Manager was created and on August 27, 1999 Vince J Murnaghan commenced employment. In 2000 a 1987 hearse was purchased and an additional 1.02 acres of land was purchased to allow for further expansion.

Find the Prince Edward Island Co-operative Funeral Homes here.

There is some advice from the Fédération des Coopératives Funéraires du Québec on how to start a funeral co-op here.

It is good to see communities take responsibility for the funerals of their members in this way. And it points up a difficulty that conventional funeral directors have in this country. They all want to demonstrate communitarian values, but that’s hard to do if you’re an undertaker, which is why so many of their community enterprises consist of little more than writing cheques. Sure, this is good news for lots of deserving causes, and it would be harsh, though in some cases accurate, to describe this community activity as nothing more than stigma-dispersal and ingratiation. We reflect, here, that while in all cultures those who deal with the dead are to a greater or lesser extent sidestepped, in Britain they are relatively well integrated. But, here’s the point, do any of these community initiatives actually involve communities in helping the bereaved in a way I once proposed they might, here? I still think they could. This is part of what I wrote:

I suspect that there are lots of people who would welcome the opportunity to do good voluntary work for the bereaved. Many people who have been bereaved want to use their understanding and experience for the benefit of others. Helping others helps them.

Some bereaved people don’t drive and need to get to the registrar, the bank. Some of them have never had anything to do with the household accounts; others have never cooked for themselves; some are skint; some have lawns that need mowing; some have never been alone before… Almost all are too blown away to think and act at anything like full effectiveness.

So there is a role for drivers, advisers, social fund form-fillers, cooks, hooverers, phone minders and listeners. And there are lots of people out there who would do this for the sake of it – who would, indeed, not do it if they were paid for it. They would also play an important part in joining up the funeral home to mainstream society.

A real funeral co-op could do all this. There isn’t one, anywhere, that does – yet.

Here in Britain we retain one huge advantage over our transatlantic cousins: ours is an unregulated industry; there’s no requirement for a co-op to employ a licensed specialist funeral director. An ‘anti-social’ characteristic of funeral directors is that they deal only in death, and this marginalises them. Far more loveable is the undertaker who does something else, professionally, as well – a bit of building, writing and broadcasting, landscape gardening, organ playing, waiting at table, accountancy, craft pottery – whatever. A funeral co-op could employ part-timers on a rota and train willing members of the community to look after dead people – which is not that hard. There are masses of people presently looking for work in the funeral industry. Salaried staff are a must, staffing no problem at all. Celebrants could be better integrated into the process. 

A funeral co-op, with its volunteer army, might adopt a policy of encouraging family participation in all aspects of arranging the funeral. This might include saying to a family, ‘Right, you need to take these papers up to the crematorium with a cheque,’ and, best of all, ‘When are you coming down to wash the hearse?’

Finding premises is never going to be a problem. But here’s an idea: in both urban and rural areas pubs are striving to broaden their appeal by becoming community resources. Well, here’s something else they can do. 

A funeral co-op can bring death back into a community in a most enriching way. A knotty problem is that, although the co-operative movement was started by working people, it appeals mostly, now (when done effectively), to middle-class folk, especially those of a liberal outlook. So from where I sit, in working class Redditch, I contemplate an uphill struggle. Yet were I to travel 20 mins up the road to Brum’s egghead boho quarter, Moseley, I reckon I could get this up and running in about an hour and a half. A funeral co-operative is something that all sectors of the community must feel they want to buy into (literally). It mustn’t become a nice little hobby for ‘our sort of people’.

Enough for now. Some of this is almost certainly nuts, none of it offensive, I hope. I’d be interested to know what you think, of course.

Hey, wouldn’t it be good to get those Rochdale Pioneers grinning in their graves?

Jazz requiem

Posted by Vale

This lovely jazz piece was actually a requiem for Charlie Parker – but at risk of offending purists I thought Frank O’Hara’s poem for Billie Holiday on the day she died fitted perfectly with the music.

The Day Lady Died

It is 12:20 in New York a Friday
three days after Bastille day, yes
it is 1959 and I go get a shoeshine
because I will get off the 4:19 in Easthampton
at 7:15 and then go straight to dinner
and I don’t know the people who will feed me

I walk up the muggy street beginning to sun
and have a hamburger and a malted and buy
an ugly NEW WORLD WRITING to see what the poets
in Ghana are doing these days

I go on to the bank
and Miss Stillwagon (first name Linda I once heard)
doesn’t even look up my balance for once in her life
and in the GOLDEN GRIFFIN I get a little Verlaine
for Patsy with drawings by Bonnard although I do
think of Hesiod, trans. Richmond Lattimore or
Brendan Behan’s new play or Le Balcon or Les Nègres
of Genet, but I don’t, I stick with Verlaine
after practically going to sleep with quandariness

and for Mike I just stroll into the PARK LANE
Liquor Store and ask for a bottle of Strega and
then I go back where I came from to 6th Avenue
and the tobacconist in the Ziegfeld Theatre and
casually ask for a carton of Gauloises and a carton
of Picayunes, and a NEW YORK POST with her face on it

and I am sweating a lot by now and thinking of
leaning on the john door in the 5 SPOT
while she whispered a song along the keyboard
to Mal Waldron and everyone and I stopped breathing

Atheism and the fear of death

Posted by Vale

It’s natural to fear death and you might think that, just as naturally, religion would help you face and overcome your fears. But it ain’t necessarily so. In a recent book, Society Without God, Anne, a 43 year old Hospice nurse from Aarhus in Denmark is interviewed. The author, Robert Zuckerman records that:

She told me that in her many years of experience working with the dying, she found that it was generally the atheists who had an easier time calmly accepting their fate, while Christians had the hardest time facing death, often being racked with worry and anxiety.

The book is a fascinating read. Zuckerman spent months interviewing people in Denmark and Sweden – the least religious in the world – to find out how secularism on such a scale affects society. Throughout you hear the authentic voices of ordinary people. Leif, a 75 year old, is a Jew and a self designated atheist. Asked what he thinks happens after we die he answers:

‘Nothing.’

‘And how does that make you feel?’

‘Well, not very sorry. It is as it is. Really I don’t feel anything about it especially.’

‘You’re not worried or scared?’

‘No I’m not. I’m not very well in health anyway, but I’m not worried.’

Sometimes we hear the surprise of the author. Reflecting on the number of non-believers who show no fear of death at all, he says that, that:

when sociologist of religion William Sims Bainbridge asks ‘How can humans…deal with the crushing awareness of mortality’ I think he is committing a mistake that many scholars of religion commit: assuming that his own fears about death are universal, when clearly they aren’t.

The effect of the interviews – on every aspect of life and society – is to present a real challenge to the argument of the religious that, without belief, society descends into sin and despair. Is it a coincidence that Danes and Swedes are recorded as the most contented in the world?

Britain, you might want to note, is not far off Scandinavia in terms of our own lack of religion.

You can buy a copy here. And there’s a good review of the book in the New York Times here.

Remembering

Posted by Vale

One evening last month we lit some candles, sat by the fire with an old book of photographs and reminisced about my wife’s mother who had died just over ten years before.

It was the first time we had done anything like this, but, over the last ten years, we have lost three of our four parents and are having to learn for ourselves how best to remember. The idea of the quiet time and the candles was our first attempt.

Then, a few days ago, with enormous pleasure and surprise, I came across this from the Gail Rubin in her book A Good Goodbye:

Every January 10, March 16, May 4, and November 2, I light a candle in memory of Grandma Dot, Grandma Min, Grandpa Ben, and Grandpa Phil. I put a picture on my kitchen table, and light a candle next to it the evening before. For that day, I imagine that particular grandparent sitting in with my husband and me as we go about our business and talk about our day.

It’s as if they get a glimpse into our current lives and I feel their presence for that day…

Remembering is about continuity and wholeness. It is restorative. In secular funeral services we tell people that the only afterlife we are certain of is in the stories we tell, the memories we share and the influence we feel in our lives. In the early days remembering is easy but In our fast forward world we have few traditions and no habits of personal and individual remembrance. Life rushes us along and too often the person you have lost feels as though they have been left behind.

Gail lists lots of ways that we could make space in our lives for remembering: cemetery visits of course, but how about memorial obituaries in the newspaper, placing photographs in the room at family get-togethers like Christmas, even household shrines.

We need something – a time or a place, an action, a personal ritual – to make remembering real again. Maybe it’s about tangible memorials and those glorious crafted containers. Maybe its something more private and personal. I know that in March and April I will be lighting candles for my own mother and father. What will you be doing?

By the way we’ve blogged about Gail’s book before. It’s worth reading not least because it led to a great discussion about shrines in the home. You can find our original review – and a link to Amazon if you’d like to buy a copy – here

Doc, how long have I got?

This will interest some of you at least — the more numerate and analytical. It’s an online diagnostic tool to determine longevity.

Here’s the rationale as described by the New York Times:

To help prevent overtesting and overtreatment of older patients — or undertreatment for those who remain robust at advanced ages — medical guidelines increasingly call for doctors to consider life expectancy as a factor in their decision-making. But clinicians, research has shown, are notoriously poor at predicting how many years their patients have left.

Now, researchers at the University of California, San Francisco, have identified 16 assessment scales with “moderate” to “very good” abilities to determine the likelihood of death within six months to five years in various older populations. Moreover, the authors have fashioned interactive tools of the most accurate and useful assessments.

“We think a more frank discussion of prognosis in the elderly is sorely needed,” said Dr. Sei Lee, a geriatrician at U.C.S.F. and a co-author of the review. “Without it, decisions are made that are more likely to hurt patients than help them.”

If that’s whetted your appetite, you can read the whole article here.

And you’ll want to have a look at the interactive longevity-calculating tool, ePrognosis, too. Tip: sign on as a healthcare professional to get the tool to work. Find it here

Utterly impersonal and awfully long

I follow The Hearth of Mopsus blog. I like it very much — the writer’s fastidious prose, his rigorous,  intellectual objectivity on the one hand, his very earnest doubts and self-questioning on the other. He’s written a very good book about holy wells, by the way. Not your bag? Fine by me. Each to his/her own. Much more to the point, I don’t comfortably think that he would like being talked about on this blog, and I’m sorry to do it to him but I’m going to do it anyway. 

In a recent post he describes his father’s funeral. He is a minister himself. 

The worst part was the minister. At least he wasn’t the ‘crem cowboy’ who’d taken my uncle’s funeral, but he was cracking on a bit then and may well not be around himself now. The chap who performed my Dad’s obsequies was a somewhat offhand Ulsterman who preached not on the Bible text that I’d chosen but on The Lord Is My Shepherd which was one of the hymns. The argument was: the Psalm that hymn was based on was written by King David. King David was a great sinner. He found peace and hope in his relationship with the Good Shepherd, and so must we. ‘We must do business with the Good Shepherd’, he said several times, having come up with a line he liked. 

He concludes:

I don’t know, perhaps I do it all wrong – perhaps I should be completely ignoring the deceased and whatever the bereaved might be feeling, and trying to convert people by making them feel bad rather than loved. You may detect a degree of scepticism in my tone. Thank God for Fats Domino or I would have been left thinking I’d prefer a secular funeral. Perhaps I still would.

You can read it all here. Do, please. 

You probably know how he felt. And we reflect that, though funerals need to be done better, because they matter more, than any other ‘life event’ ceremony, they’re not always, whether religious or secular. The occasion doesn’t look after itself, nor do the words, you can’t just arrange your face and rattle them off. That Ulsterman probably thought he did just fine. So, probably, do lots of secular celebrants. But this is a job for extra-ordinary people. 

You may need Fats to cheer you up, too.

Humanising the ancestors

We get quite a few emails here at the GFG from makers of ashes urns. Most of these urns are ghastly and get no more than a thanks but no thanks. We are unfailingly courteous.

This morning was an exception. We received some stunning images from a Plymouth-based ceramist, Alan Braidford — in answer, it almost seemed, to Richard Rawlinson’s post earlier on today. Wonderful work, we’re sure you’ll agree. There are virtually no makers of funeral urns whose work has evolved beyond the container-of-some-sort stage, but Alan’s urns are anthropoid — they are sculpted figures of humans. What a difference that makes. Depending on size, perfect for a garden memorial or for a family altar to the ancestors. Okay, so we don’t do altars to ancestors. Ours is a developed culture which has lost touch with the value of ritual observances based in an idea of duty. For the sake of our own emotional health, we need to reinvent these observances, and Alan’s work points the way. Do you think they speak too much of grief?

Here is Alan talking about what he does:

My ceramic work is figurative and mostly stoneware. The work is on a domestic scale ranging between 30 to 150 cm in height.

Although my natural impulse is to make sculpture, I am very interested in making functional pieces, and with this in mind I have been developing a series of simplified sitting figures to be used as funeral urns. As this work will be fired to 1250c it will be frost proof, and thus can be placed outside in a garden setting. Ashes or memorabilia can be placed inside the urn through an opening, before the ceramic is fixed to a stone base.

The look of my work is influenced by an interest in ancient history – Celtic, Etruscan, Cycladic and Middle Eastern.

Coiling is the construction process most employed, although I am currently developing a press moulded process in order to reproduce one of the urn designs.  Slips,engobes and lava glazes are used to add surface texture.

Alan is also interested in working collaboratively with bereaved people in the matter of design. If you want to contact Alan, write to him at alanbraidford(at)btinternet(dot)com. His website is here