Playing Saif

I’d hoped to have a sprightly little post for you yesterday on the matter of funeral costs. The trade body representing the interests of independent funeral directors, Saif, commissioned Ipsos MORI (how apt, that MORI!) to research funeral directors’ charges. A friendly funeral director emailed me to tell he’d just got the report, would I like him to send it to me? I told him not to go to the trouble: I’d get it from Saif itself.

I rang Saif on Monday afternoon. I was promised the report by email. Nothing. I rang in a reminderly way on Tuesday morning and was promised a call back. Nothing. I rang once more in the afternoon. My request was being scrutinised, I was told, by the brightest and best at Saif, and the conclusion seemed to be that the Good Funeral Guide, a resource for consumers, dammit, is reckoned not to be a fit repository for such information. It seems that they don’t like references to “your dead person”. The only acceptable term for a dead person is, I am told, “the deceased.” I am still waiting for official confirmation of this from someone called Alan, and I confidently expect to have to wait ’til the Crack of Doom itself.

I dislike velveteen euphemisms that insulate us from the reality of things. I especially buy cialis bali dislike that hush-and-awe, neuter word “deceased”, the way it slithers and hisses. This is not everybody’s position. There is no vocabulary that will satisfy all. Too bad. We use words in this country both to assign meaning and to set ourselves apart, and there’s something both marvellous and detestable about the ways in which we do it. What a pity it is that we cannot use the plain words of our language to stake our place in neutral territory. As things are, meaning comes in shades of the most delicate, deadly hues. I shut the door, she closes it. We inhabit different worlds.

Everybody’s friend is nobody’s friend. Against the sanctimonious self-rightousness of Saif I would set the words of one O Hetreed, who wrote this to me: “Thank you for this excellent website. It’s been really helpful at a difficult point and refreshingly free of cant and bogus solemnity.” I was even more gratified when I found out who O Hetreed actually is.

I’m cross with Saif and disappointed. And amused, of course. I know what the Ipsos MORI report says, but I’m not telling you. Do you find yourself beginning to suppose that it can only reveal that independent funeral directors exhibit an appetite for exploitation which borders on depravity? I couldn’t possibly comment.

Who wants to live forever?

Is the first person to live to 1,000 alive today? Aubrey de Grey, talking above at a TED conference, is just one of the scientists dedicated to helping us do that – not that he intends to stop at 1,000.
If this buy cialis sydney whets an appetite, check out his research foundation here. Go and have a look at Imminst, too.
And buy Bryan Appleyard’s highly readable How to Live Forever or Die Trying.

The wages of solicitude

We worry about our football clubs. Many are encumbered by stonking debts. Manchester United owes £716 million.

What of our big undertaking businesses? Well, Dignity Caring Funeral Services has just published figures which provide the current answer to that question. And the answer is (sit down, please, and clutch your whisky) that Dignity are leveraged to the tune of £250 million.

Bad news: in 2009 they performed 3,700 fewer funerals than in 2008.

Good news: profits rose 6 per cent to £37.5 million.

Bad news: price per funeral rose by 6 per cent.

Good news: shareholder payouts are up by 10 per cent.

Conclusion: caring for investors, crapping on consumers.

Attitudes to undertakers

There’s a very interesting blog developing over at Funerary Ramblings. If you’ve not been there, pop across.
 
Today’s ramblings take an amble through attitudes to undertakers. It’s very good.
 
So here’s to you, Funerary Rambler. You’ve probably not come across our Jake Thackray.
 
Here are the words:
I am a grave-digger, a digger of graves. I know my clay.
I know in my water, I know in my blood, I know in my bones
That you will never believe in the things I am going to say
Till you are listening in to a funeral all of your own.
There are uncles and aunties and nieces and nephews and sisters-in-law.
A family swarms with them; they teem; they are thicker than flies.
Sisters and brothers and cousins and aunties and daughters galore,
The only time when all of them meet is when one of them dies.

At the grave, at the grave, at the family, family grave,
The putting of the people in the ground.
There are days, days when I shake my shovel at the sky.
Oh there are days, there are days it gets you down, down, down;
Shovel at the sky . . . gets you down.

I see many different fashions of mourning, both fancy and plain.
There are those who go very white and stand there aghast and just gawp;
They cannot manage to cry – and there’s others who cannot refrain:
Willy-nilly they bellow and howl at the drop of a corpse.

They sit in the chapel and whisper and meditate over the stiff.
They never speak ill of him – especially if he was close –
But: “What a good family man, and a wonderful friend,” even if
He was a palpable pain in the arse and he died of a dose!

At the grave, at the grave, at the family, family grave,
The putting of the people in the ground.
Some with no one there – at least, just a policeman and a priest.
There are days, oh there are days it gets you down, down, down;
Policeman and a priest . . . gets you down.

Then there are those of course who turn up and can then hardly wait
For the vicar to stop and the coffin to drop and the sobbing subside.
And then they are barely a blur as they sprint for the cemetery gates
To go get their hands on the money, the food, or the widow’s backside.

There are one or two “do”s turn out disappointingly in the extreme,
Where the booze is rough and the grub is duff and no flowers at all,
And the mother embarrasses you with a sudden hysterical scream,
Where the coffin you came to see off is pathetically small.

At the grave, at the grave, at the family, family grave,
The putting of the people in the ground.
In a whisper often I say “Good luck, my friend. Goodbye”
There are days, oh there are days it gets you down, down, down.
“Good luck, my friend. Goodbye.” It gets you down.

They do the round of the family faces and pay their respects
“We’ll have to be going.” “How nice.” “How sad.” And “Thanking you.”
They are studying form and weighing up who it is going to be next
To go under the slab. Whose turn to pay for the very next “do”.

I am a grave-digger, a digger of graves. I know my clay.
I know in my water, I know in my blood, I know in my bones
That you will never believe in the things I am going to say
Till you are listening in to a funeral all of your own.

At the grave, at the grave, at the family, family grave,
The putting of the people in the ground.
There are days, days when I shake my shovel at the sky.
Oh there are days, oh there are days it gets you down, down, down;
Shovel at the sky . . . gets you down.

Dial up the dead

Marvellous, isn’t it, the feats of ingenuity those of an entrepreneurial bent are capable of in dreaming up schemes to part the bereaved from a pretty penny?

I love Eternal Voicemail. They transfer a dead person’s mobile phone voicemail message to a voicemail box. Anyone who’s got the dead person’s phone number can call, listen to the dead person’s message, and leave one of their own.

Just don’t expect a call back any time soon.

Check out the website here. Any takers?

Exit strategy

It seems unthinkable that the practice of direct cremation, direct burial – the rapid and unceremonious disposal of the dead – could land on our shores. It’s been preying on my mind. Now I’m not so sure.

Here’s a view from Rabbi Mark S Glickman writing in the Seattle Times about what he calls the “desire to de-emphasize or avoid focusing on death”:

My Aunt Margie died a few weeks ago. And now that she’s gone, I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do.

I hadn’t seen Aunt Margie very often for the past several years, but we were very close when I was a boy. She had a kind smile, she took genuine interest in our lives, and it was rumored that nations had gone to war just to get a piece of her famous chocolate roll. My brothers and I did, too.

Aunt Margie lived near San Francisco, and as her death approached, I began making plans to go to her funeral. I was attending a conference in Southern California. Maybe I could reroute my return trip through the Bay Area.

The call finally came when I was in Santa Monica, just before lunch. I was enjoying the warmth and the sunshine, but then my mother’s name flashed onto my cellphone screen. Yes, Aunt Margie had died. The end was peaceful. In accordance with her wishes, there would be no burial rites. Her body would be cremated without ceremony.

No funeral? Not even a memorial service? But … but … she had just died! What was I supposed to do? I felt like I needed to do something about her death — to honor her, to memorialize her somehow. Was I supposed to just go on as if nothing had happened?

He concludes:

Judaism teaches that a spark of God burns within every human soul, and that, therefore, when a person dies, a part of God dies, too. The divine presence shrinks with the death of every human being.

In response, after a person dies, Jews recite the Kaddish, our prayer of mourning, in an attempt to restore God’s presence to the world. “Yitgadal v’yitkadash shmei rabbah,” it begins, “May God’s great name be magnified and sanctified.”

I won’t presume to tell you how you should mourn your loved ones’ deaths, or what preparations you should make for your own. I will, however, encourage you to remember that human life is awesome and mysterious; that a person’s death is often sad and always significant; and that we mourn best when our actions reflect these great truths.

My dear Aunt Margie has died. The sun no longer shines quite as brightly as it used to. May God’s great name be magnified and sanctified.

Read the entire piece here.

Robbing the dead while they’re still alive

Consumers are best served by people whose interests are their interests – people who want what their customers want. Ethics-driven natural burial ground operators are a good example. This is an equation, so it works the other way around.

There’s not much understanding of this in the funeral industry. There are shining exceptions, but their example is seldom spotlighted. I’m thinking here of a big business like AW Lymn which goes out of its way to trade transparently and join up arranging a funeral to conducting it. I am thinking of AB Walker, a business old enough and sufficiently well thought of not to give a stuff when this blog criticises it, but which extended the hand of friendship and listened to what I said with astonishing good cheer and magnanimity. I am thinking, too, of businesses like Bristol South Funeral Services whom I visited yesterday. They’re minnows, a new start-up. If people knew just how lovely they are, let me tell you, they’d be swamped.

Perhaps it is because the funeral industry has been subjected to so little consumer scrutiny that honour, ethics and excellence, unsung, have gone unrewarded. Result? Too many funeral directors have lost their consumer focus. They seem to be more interested in each other, actually. In the absence of healthy competition there is, often, morbid, rabid mutual loathing of an intensity which would surprise and revolt you. Where the best are not singled out for praise and reward by consumer advocates (I hope I’ll soon be joined by many others), open, healthy competition for market share can turn into a very nasty, underhand turf war in which the interests of consumers are confounded. Funeral directors are united by nothing so much as a perceived threat to their business. Here’s an example. The prospect of people conducting home funerals, if reckoned realistic, will, I’ll put my house on it, bring some local groups together like a bag of rats for just long enough to agree to deny these people any help. I shall highlight the first case as soon as I hear of it. Perhaps I just have.

The most egregious example of turf war at its most clamorous, ugly, bloody, nasty, underhand and atrocious is that of the marketing of funeral plans. The consumer hears nothing of the clamour, only the sweet siren songs of helpful plan providers playing both to the finer feelings of decent, thoughtful folk who want to die with everything in order, and to their terror of steeply rising costs (32.8 per cent in the last five years). There’s a big, big question mark over this latter claim. In the words of one of my correspondents, “If we look at the elements of a cremation, typically costing £2500 now, around 28-30% (£700) goes in cremation and doctors fees. So if the rest of the charges (due to the funeral director) go up by 3% pa (about the rate of inflation), for five years, that £1800 will rise to £2086. So for the Dignity prediction to be true, that funerals will cost £4,000 by 2015, that means the price of the cremation and doctors fees will have to rise to nearly £2000! This is clearly nonsense (or the reason why Dignity is buying crematoria!)”

The opening shots in this war were fired, I think, by the disgraced Service Corporation International (now, as the result of a management buyout, Dignity, and no longer scandal ridden). So effectively have Dignity and The Co-operative Group sold their plans and cornered future market share that consumer choice in the future is under the gravest threat. The independents are fighting back, but they can’t risk taking hits and already some are complaining that they are having to honour plans made 15 years ago for no profit. The winners will be the The Co-op and Dignity, whose prices are currently higher than most independents, who do not, generally, offer the same level of personal service and, in the case of The Co-operative, is gravely susceptible to negligence and malpractice.

Do these plans offer anything like value for money? In the words of my correspondent: “If you buy the Co-op plan over 5 years, the total cost of their mid plan rises from £2825 (already nearly £300 above the cost of an average funeral – the Golden Charter mid plan is £2549) to £3825 (another 6% + pa), so the customer is actually paying for the projected price rise themselves!”

Does an insurance scheme offer better value? We now hear of insurance companies who will pay out only to funeral directors who will bung them £250 first. There’s no shortage of scavengers picking the pockets of the dead.

Every funeral plan sold denies those responsible for arranging a funeral their choice of funeral director; every plan sold is a nail in the coffin of breadth of choice. What seems to be the consumer’s friend is in fact the consumer’s enemy.

If independent funeral directors were governed by the best interests of their clients they would call this war off – because there’s an equation at stake here. Instead, they are drumming up their own destruction. And they won’t stop, it’s too desperate and way beyond the reach of reason, neither will charities like Age Concern (Age Concern, for heavens’ sake!!) stop promoting the Dignity plan, until we can blow a whistle loud enough and show the world a better way to pay for a funeral.

My correspondent thinks this is a case for the OFT. I suspect that this is a cause better served by consumer education. You think?

Looking like death

Most people don’t reckon to look their best when they’re dead, but this was not how the status conscious citizens of Palermo in Italy saw it.

Starting in 1599 the Capuchin friars were mummified or embalmed, then displayed, standing, in the catacombs beneath their friary. The idea appealed to the wealthy citizens of Palermo, who clamoured to join them. Permission was granted and, over the centuries, their numbers grew and grew. The custom was only discontinued in the 1920s.

There to this day they stand or sit or lie, gathered according to profession, wearing the clothes they wore in life. They now constitute a fascinating record of social history – and an object of appalled fascination to goggling tourists.

Around 8,000 desiccated corpses gregariously survive in varying states of repair, their expressions altered over time, many of them now seeming silently to be singing in chorus, nattering, making merry or expostulating. One of the last to be entombed was a child, Rosalia Lombardo, who remains to this day touchingly well preserved.

There’s an excellent article by AA Gill here.

Be sure to see the photos which go with the piece here.

There’s more about Rosalia here.

There’s a melodramatic clip about Dario Piombino-Mascali, a palaeopathologist who is working hard to preserve Sicilies many mummies, here.

There’s a website full of pictures plus some very good links here.

Lastly, here is a YouTube film, described by a commenter most appropriately as “sweetly macabre.”

 

Blackened greens?

 

Is it just me or do you, too, feel that it seems like a long time ago since there was a consensus on climate change? I signed up to it because I met lots of people I liked and admired who had already subscribed and who read lots of books about it and quoted terrifying scenarios and insisted, “You must see this amazing thing on YouTube.”

I also signed up to it because I don’t understand science but I do trust scientists – in much he same spirit as Hugo Rifkind: when I can’t be arsed properly to understand something, I tend to defer to those who can. I trust engineers to build bridges and I trust doctors to cure diseases. Likewise climatologists on man-made global warming. Most of them seem to believe in it. They might all be wrong, but they’re less likely to be wrong than I am. Call me a mindless stooge, but that’s good enough for me.

Now, I guess, there are lots of us who are not so sure. There was the Climategate scandal: all those hacked emails which revealed, in the words of James Delingpole, “Conspiracy, collusion in exaggerating warming data, possibly illegal destruction of embarrassing information, organised resistance to disclosure, manipulation of data, private admissions of flaws in their public claims and much more. With this scandal came allegations that climate science is driven by a political agenda, post-normal science, which encourages its followers to suppose that it is quite all right to lie if the cause is noble. Again, Delingpole is the one who writes most attractively about this.

No wonder Peter Preston thinks we need an eco-prophet to galvanise us.

If people are going wobbly on climate change, I wonder how they’re feeling about this in the natural burial movement?

The Co-operative reports 21% increase in funeral plan sales

No funeral director, however brilliant, can stimulate an appetite for their product – because we pass their way but once. But a funeral director can sign up tomorrow’s customers today by the ingenious means of selling them a pre-need funeral plan.

Pre-need plans look like a very good bet. They’re inflation-proof. And they are easy to sell. Just tweak people’s consciences by telling them that it’s a helpful and thoughtful thing to do for those who will be charged with disposing of you and you’ve got a win-win-win.

The Co-operative Group and Dignity, in particular, have done an incredibly good job of selling their pre-need plans. So much so that the independent sector is finding that tomorrow’s market increasingly belongs to these big conglomerates. As turf wars go, this one is looking very one-sided.

The more so with the Co-op’s proclamation on 5 March of a staggering 21 per cent growth in sales of pre-need plans in 2009. If I were an independent I’d be writing off my future.

Are pre-need plans the best way of paying for a funeral? I haven’t the financial literacy to work that out. I wonder if any reader of this blog has a view or, better still, an analysis.

What is certain is that consumer choice is under grave threat from funeral providers who, for the most part, cannot rival independents for personal service or value for money.

Read the incredibly depressing Co-op announcement here.