Now we are five

Ooh, the conjurer’s just arrived. 

Yes, it’s all party hats and facepainting over here at the GFG-Batesville Shard. Jelly, pizza fingers, crisps and ice cream. A whole lot of bunting. 

Our blog is five years old today and we’re awaiting the arrival in his much-loved Daimler DS420 of our patron and sugar-daddy, Sir Basil Batesville-Caskett Bt, CDM, OTT, RLSS (Bronze). There’ll be speeches and cup cakes, party games and lemonade. 

At five, believe it or not, we’re one of the longest-running blogs in Funeralworld, our longevity exceeded only, we think, by Margaret Nelson’s blog, Dead Interesting. As we look back, we… Nah, can’t be bothered with any of that retrospective, self-congratulatory stuff. Tomorrow’s what matters. 

Tea with Daisy

In which our guest blogger Richard Rawlinson is compelled to account for a socially questionable hobby

I googled your name recently and found you on some funeral blog site. What’s that all about?

Ha ha, oh yeah, I know the guy who runs it. Just help him out every once in a while.

I think you’re blushing, Dickie!

Am I? Well, I don’t want you thinking I’ve developed some morbid fascination with death.

No, no. It’s okay. In fact, I think it’s good to confront our mortality. And I was quite interested in a piece there about natural burial. Cremations seems quite unnatural. Positively Indian.

Do you mean natural burial grounds or just burial in a cemetery or churchyard?

The ones in a field of wild flowers. Way out in the sticks. No gravestones. Shrouds instead of coffins and all that. Are they kosher?

Depends what you mean by kosher.

Well… Christian. Mummy would turn in her consecrated grave if she thought I’d gone pagan. Except she was cremated like an Indian.

More like 70 per cent of the British population nowadays, Dais. I think the growth of these natural burial grounds is reviving traditional burial. It’s good that landowners are giving over fields as established cemeteries are running out of space. Not sure if they’re where can i buy generic cialis in the uk Christian per se, though. I’m sure some nature-loving religious folk choose ‘em as well as some new age types.

I should check them out. I’m not exactly religious myself these days, and yet they seem more spiritual than the few crematoriums I’ve been to. Mummy must have just been going with the flow. Are crematoriums largely for atheists?

Crematoria, not crematoriums. They’re for anyone, secular venues for a ceremony and a factory for the incineration. Your ashes can then be buried in a cemetery or natural burial ground, kept on the mantelpiece or thrown to the wind. Sometimes people have a church funeral before the crem and sometimes they don’t. If you wanted, you could have a church funeral before a committal in a field of wild flowers.

Blimey. How much time do you spend on that site? I thought you were always working, travelling or partying.

I have plenty of down time staying in of an evening. Death is just one of my hobbies!

Now you do sound macabre! I might join you on the site though.

Ok, but don’t say things like Hindu pyres are unnatural. It might make some people cross.

 

#Bomo2013 – 7 & 8 September

It’ll be the third time we’ve done it, and it will have its third working title: Good Funeral Awards. It keeps on getting bigger and it keeps on changing its shape. We hope that this year will be better than ever. We’ve tried to keep prices as low as possible. Do come.

We’ve published a manifesto: Bomo2013. And of course there’s a website. There will also be a tv programme about last year’s event. You can watch it on Sky 1 at 8.30pm on 18 July – a full hour’s documentary with lots of backstory about Funeralworld’s finest.

The Twitter hashtag is #bomo2013

This is what we’re working hard to create : An inclusive, unstuffy, chatty event, which attracts the liveliest minds in Funeralworld and the general public, and strives to be useful. 

No one has ownership of the event. It belongs to all who participate. Brian Jenner is our lead organiser and host.

This is what we seek to achieve:

*  to bring together the tribes of Funeralworld – the undertakers, the celebrants, the makers of merchandise, the raisers of awareness and the consumer advocates

*  to promote among them opportunities to connect, exchange views and experiences, share best practice and generate synergistic capital

*  to encourage members of the public to drop in, mix, eavesdrop, learn, inquire, question and contribute on an equal footing

*  to debate issues around longevity, dying, the care of the dead, funerals, commemoration and grief

*  to promote an enrichment of the commemoration of the dead in ways which meet contemporary cultural, emotional and spiritual needs

*  to focus on practicality by exploring observances and rituals which are capable of adoption or repurposing by bereaved people in Britain today

*  to be welcomingly inclusive — to reflect and respect all schools of thought from the trad to the progressive

*  to promote greater public engagement with dying, death and commemoration and thereby stimulate social change

*  to promote the empowerment of the bereaved

*  to stage the Good Funeral Awards + dinner dance

*  to attract publicity to our work in the media

*  to have fun by the sea.

It’s not going to be one of those events where you sit in a darkened room being talked at all day. There will be discussion groups, indoors and out. Dr Ben Sessa will talk to anyone who wants to listen about the use of psychoactive drugs in palliative care. For the ‘general public’ there will be a panel event: ‘So you want to do it all yourself?’ offering support, guidance and advice for self-helpers & considering how undertakers and celebrants can support bereaved people who want to take ownership of all or part of the process.

Find out more: go to the Good Funeral Awards website and download the manifesto Bomo2013.

We really hope we’ll see you at Britain’s Copacabana: Bournemouth.

Dying is Bournemouth’s largest leisure activity, after carpet bowls and complaining to the Council’

Feasting on brains

Weekends? Ha! We don’t believe in them here at the GFG-Batesville Shard. Probably you don’t, either. Because, like you, I know that the number one regret of the dying is: I wish I had worked harder.

So on Sunday, noticing my bank manager had nodded off in a deckchair, I slipped my fiscal leash and zipped down to Bath for the second day of the annual CDAS conference: New Economies of Death: The Commodification of Dying, the Dead Body, and Bereavement. Snappy title. Forty-five quid, lunch thrown in. Thank you for letting me in at the last minute, Caron!

I’d obviously missed lots of good stuff the day before, because everyone was keen to rub it in. Not to worry, there was lots of good stuff on Sunday, too, much of it from hands-on people like Barbara Chalmers, and Shaun Powell and Lawrence Kilshaw. There were good papers on funeral costs and much talk of funeral poverty. A highlight was a very bright Australian undertaker, Anne Gleeson, who talked about the importance of joining up end-of-life care to the care of the dead body. She and her husband specialise in ‘individualised funerals on farms and wineries, traditional church services, small personal ceremonies in homes and community venues’. This very bespoke way of working doesn’t necessarily endear them to their fellow undertakers, better termed funeral directors. Yes, there’s a difference.

For me, the best bit was the session after lunch. Steve Gallagher, from the Chinese University, Hong Kong, lectures in law and specialises in trusts — an area of law, he told us, reckoned by lawyers themselves to be the most boring of all. He loves it, and managed to communicate that. He told us about Chinese customary trusts in the New Territories, and how they were adopted into the common law of Hong Kong by the British. The main purposes of these trusts are threefold: ancestral veneration; the provision of funeral costs for clan members; and the maintenance of clan graves. The richer trusts cover other expenses of clan members, too – education, for example. They are unique to China and incorporated into law only in Hong Kong. 

What an excellent model, I thought, for British funeral planning. I put it to Steve and he agreed that it would work. He named the English trust that would best suit (I wish I’d written it down). It needs to be renewed every 21 years, giving a family the opportunity to review and remodel. All good.

He reminded us that, when you arrange a funeral in China, you consult not only the wishes and needs of close family and those who knew the dead person but, also, the expectations of the ancestors. That’s quite a weight of responsibility and a considerable enrichment of a funeral. We could do with some of that here. 

There was a good spread of people from all areas of funerals. We all enjoyed swapping ideas, refreshing our thinking and learning new things. The people at CDAS are always very welcoming, and actively encourage ‘civilians’ to attend.

Regrettable, therefore, that not a single funeral director went. The debate about where funerals are going in an age of growing secularism and a rapidly changing landscape of dying is going to go on without them because it’s a debate that masses of people want to take part in and it’s urgent. Ideas are change agents, and the sideline, just now, is no place to stand. 

Sign up for the CDAS newsletter here

Twaddle rating: 6

Desecration of Mum’s grave was the last straw

Posted by Richard Rawlinson

Julie Bailey, founder of the Cure the NHS campaign group, which exposed the Mid Staffordshire scandal, has closed her café in Stafford after “political activists” desecrated her mother’s grave.

“I am having to leave my home, my livelihood and my friends because a few misinformed local political activists have fuelled a hate campaign based on proven lies. The final straw for me was the desecration of my mum’s grave. It is a sad day today, but I have no alternative than to move out of Stafford. The last few months have been a very distressing time for myself and Cure the NHS; our main aim has always been a safer NHS for all. Difficult as it is for people, everyone must finally realise that patient safety must be the priority. The main focus for every hospital must be the patient.”

Who are these fanatics who treat the NHS like a religion and its critics as blasphemers? Ian Birell of The Independent recently wrote: “Britons cling to a nostalgic notion that this creaking, outdated institution is the envy of the world. Perhaps, as scandal after scandal washes over the service, our nation can finally grow up and see that such myopic worship helped foster a culture of complacency.”

Dying what comes naturally

On Thursday the GFG donated an entire day to the Natural Death Centre — an act of generosity which has earned us the highest self-praise. We  agreed to deliver People’s Awards winners’ certificates to those owners and managers of natural burial grounds upon whom the People had bestowed them. As our 54-seater luxury executive coach vroomed away from the GFG-Batesville Shard, we were filled with a keen sense of adventure.

First stop was Upper Bryntalch Farm, Montgomeryshire, Wales, on which is situated Green Lane Burial Field. We were shown round by Ifor and Eira Humphreys and daughter Delyth. The burial ground occupies just an acre towards the top of a swooping slope that runs down to the Severn flood plain, and it commands, as you can see, wonderful views. The site is managed as a hay meadow. Graves – just £500 each – are set comfortably apart from each other, and only a small proportion of the whole site is  earmarked for burial. Everyone wants a plot at the top of the hill, but there’s too much shale up there. The site is bounded by woodland, and we particularly liked the green oak obelisk to which families can affix a plaque bearing the name of their person who’s died. It really does mark this place out as a sacred space. Graves are designated by a single cobblestone with a number — you hardly notice them. The house you can see in the slideshow was once lived in by the composer Peter Warlock, an attraction for musicians. Many families hold their funeral at the graveside in the fresh air. Some come on from church or their village hall.

Verdict: a natural burial ground that keeps it simple, occupies a sensationally beautiful site, provides access and parking that does not scar the ground, and is run by very, very nice people. Our score: 10/10

We celebrated being in Wales by stopping off in the county town, Montgomery. It’s an idyllic place glowered over by one of those (now ruined) castles built to subdue the revolting populace, a symbol of historic minority-abuse that makes English people feel prickly guilt when they visit the Principality. We browsed the market and, as a gesture of appeasement, bought some leaks. We marvelled at the ironmonger’s, one of those old-fashioned establishments that stocks everything.

Next stop was Westhope, some ten miles north of Ludlow. This is a seriously remote place whose approach reminded us of John Betjeman’s line: ‘By roads “not adopted”, by woodlanded ways’. You wouldn’t necessarily want to be a freshly polished hearse motoring to a funeral here. By the time we got through, rain had set in with some vim, but this was not something that our hosts, Andy Bruce and his daughter Fay, seemed to be aware of in the least. That’s countryfolk for you. 

The burial site is an old orchard. It’s been an orchard since time out of mind. In it stands a Victorian estate chapel built on the foundations of an earlier chapel dating back to the thirteenth century. You can hold a funeral here, if you like. It doesn’t have an especially churchy feel, probably because it does not host a lot in the way of regular worship. The site is grazed by Castlemilk Moorit sheep, a rare breed, now. They were bred to be decorative, and so they are, especially the lambs. Andy likes eating them. The apples are highly spoken of, too.

The sheep keep the grass down when it’s growing. They overwinter indoors and have their lambs there. When it’s time to let them out, the abundant spring flowers, daffodils and crocus especially, have begun to die back.

Verdict: Unique, mildly eccentric. Simple and natural. Very beautiful and agreeably remote. Andy and Fay are lovely people and they look after you really well. No website, which greatly enhances the sense of discovery. 10/10.

Finally, on our way back, we called in at Ludford Park Meadow of Remembrance in Ludlow, which had not won a prize but deserved to. How Lin and Roger Dalton came to own it by accident is a long and twisting story. Briefly, the church cemetery is now full, the townspeople still want to be buried there, so the strip of land adjoining was bought and made into a natural burial ground thanks in great part to the perseverance of Lin and Roger. 

It doesn’t appeal to the sort of folk who want the sort of away-from-it-all burial ground characterised by Green Lane and Westhope. Ludlow people want to visit their dead often, so they’re allowed a 15″x15″ stone plaque at the head of the grave – scarcely detectable when we looked round. (The rain was now falling profusely, by the way.) And there’s a gravelled area with vases where people can bring their flowers, rather than place them on the graves. 

What Ludford Park manages to pull off very well indeed is its relationship with its regimented, headstoned neighbour. Its special magic is that it doesn’t feel unkempt. 

The burial ground has been so popular that it is now three years off being full. Lin wants to buy a strip of land from the farmer over the fence, but he won’t sell. This doesn’t dismay Lin at all. She has set her sights. 

Verdict: A burial ground which has its own distinctive identity, yet rubs along very happily with the cemetery next door. Trees at the far end add to its beauty. Admirably and sensitively adapted to the particular needs of its clients. Run by very, very nice people. 10/10. 

I thank you God for this most amazing day, for the leaping greenly spirits of trees, and for the blue dream of sky and for everything which is natural, which is infinite, which is yes. ee cummings

You tried

One for you celebrants.

In a deceptively ‘unclever’ eulogy for James Gandolfini, David Chase, creator and head writer of the Sopranos, offered this thought about the subordinate value of coherence  in speechmaking:

I remember how you [Gandolfini] did speeches. I saw you do a lot of them at awards shows and stuff, and invariably you would scratch two or three thoughts on a sheet of paper and put it in your pocket, and then not really refer to it. And consequently, a lot of your speeches didn’t make sense. I think that could happen in here, except in your case, it didn’t matter that it didn’t make sense, because the feeling was real. The feeling was real. The feeling was real. I can’t say that enough.

He addressed, tacitly, the darker side of Gandolfini:

The paradox about you as a man is that I always felt personally, that with you, I was seeing a young boy. A boy about Michael’s age right now.  Because you were very boyish. And about the age when humankind, and life on the planet are really opening up and putting on a show, really revealing themselves in all their beautiful and horrible glory. And I saw you as a boy – as a sad boy, amazed and confused and loving and amazed by all that.

In pursuit of this idea, Chase understands the illustrative value of an anecdote.

We were on the set shooting a scene with Stevie Van Zandt, and I think the set-up was that Tony had received news of the death of someone, and it was inconvenient for him. And it said, ‘Tony opens the refrigerator door, closes it and he starts to speak.’ And the cameras rolled, and you opened the refrigerator door, and you slammed it really hard — you slammed it hard enough that it came open again. And so then you slammed it again, then it came open again. You kept slamming it and slamming it and slamming it and slamming it and went apes*** on that refrigerator … And I remember telling you, ‘Did I tell you to destroy the refrigerator? Did it say anywhere in the script, “Tony destroys a refrigerator?” It says “Tony angrily shuts the refrigerator door.”That’s what it says. You destroyed the fridge.’
… … …

You tried and you tried, more than most of us, and harder than most of us, and sometimes you tried too hard. That refrigerator is one example. Sometimes, your efforts were at cost to you and others, but you tried.

Abridged version of the whole eulogy here

‘Everyone has a plan til they get punched in the mouth.’ – Mike Tyson

Of all the products dreamt up in the secret, black and midnight minds of financial services sorcerers, the pay-now-die-later funeral plan must rank as one of the rankest. It stinks. It’s idiotic. 

A funeral plan purports to benefit consumers by enabling them to buy tomorrow’s funeral at today’s prices (or thereabouts). But it wasn’t invented to benefit consumers, it was invented to benefit funeral directors. It addresses a problem peculiar to funeral directors. The problem is this: however brilliant you are (and caring, dignified, etc), there’s absolutely nothing you can do to induce more people to die, and you can’t sweet-talk them into doing it more than once.

If you want to steal a march on your competitors, therefore, you need to stitch up tomorrow’s market by bagging the biggest share you can get of it in advance — by taking tomorrow’s clients off the market today. 

What a pity it ever started. As soon as one funeral firm does it, everyone else has to join in, like it or not. There’s even a formula to work to. If your sales of funeral plans are greater than 20 per cent of your sales of at-need funerals, you’re okay. Less, and you’re in doodoo.

The only way you can achieve this increased market share is by offering a product riddled with deficiencies and anomalies. In this, the age of the bespoke, personal funeral offering a high-value emotional and spiritual experience to the bereaved, you offer packages of the crudest, most mechanical sort — it’s the only way to do it. Package one: Crudholme coffin (4 handles), no viewing, hearse straight to crem. Package two: Greyfriars coffin, viewing, hearse and one. Package three — but you know all this.

The problem for funeral directors is that if you ask people to buy a funeral for themselves, they tend to buy the cheapest. What price superb personal service in all this? Zilch. Experiential value to those left behind? Irrelevant. Funeral plans offer nobbut disposal in limited and highly unimaginative cosmetic options. Its appeal is highest to the put-me-out-with-the-rubbish brigade.

The last person you should ever ask to arrange a funeral is the recipient.

Memo to the living: we mustn’t plan our funeral. All we can do is be available for it. Write your funeral wishes in pencil. Hint, don’t prescribe. Die. Butt out. 

There’s a lot more that’s wrong with funeral plans, as you well know.  Money hasn’t grown since 2008 and the economy isn’t recovering. Funeral costs — they double every ten years — are rising faster than RPI. As the battle for tomorrow’s market share becomes more strident and overheated, the battleground is looking more and more like Syria. Plans are coming in underfunded and funeral directors are having to bear the brunt of that (to the incidental benefit of the plan holder). Independent funeral directors are in danger of surrendering their independence, because there’s a real danger that some plan providers will, in desperation, be forced to become funeral brokers, offering work to the lowest bidder. Funeral plans aren’t regulated by the FCA

Never before has there been so much talk of a plan provider going bust. The Ponzi-word is much muttered these days. All the while, new products are coming onto the market, and new providers, and new enhancements, like legal services. It’s getting frenzied. Is there a big bust a-brewing? Consensus says yes.

If one of the plan providers does go bust, what happens? Do the others get together to bail it out? Up to a point, perhaps. If the provider is a member of the Funeral Planning Authority, its members “shall co-operate and examine ways in which the FPA might assist in arranging delivery of the funerals of customers of the insolvent Registered Provider.” If you bought a funeral plan from the heavily despised Avalon, you don’t even get this reassurance. Avalon is not a member of the FPA

No wonder funeral directors, for whom these plans were designed, fear and loathe the bloody things, today more than ever.

Where, you might ask, is the media now that the gelignite is beginning to sweat? Where are the expert, investigative journalists when you need them? Out to lunch. 

Perhaps the best we can hope for is that there will be PPI-style megascandal and we can all start from ground zero with a consumer-focussed funeral plan. 

What would a consumer focussed funeral plan look like?

Well, first of all, it would pay out to the family, not direct to a funeral director. 

Second, there would be change, a sum left over, if an executor decided not to spend it all. (Whoever got change from one of today’s plans?)

Third, the rights of the dead person would assume their rightful legal value — zero — and the bereaved would be empowered. People should get the funerals they deserve, not the funerals they want. We’d get much better funerals as a result. 

Fourth, the sum would not be assigned to any particular family member. If Granddad doesn’t go first because Wayne (17) drives into a tree, Wayne gets it and we top it up for Granddad — or whoever’s next. 

So, fifth, the family funeral fund does not expire with the death of any particular family member, but lives on and is handed down. 

What would be the best repository for a family’s funeral fund? A trust? 

We don’t know, but you probably do. 

Let’s not be daunted. There has to be a better way than the self-reinforcing shambles we have today. 

It’s all good at Clandon Wood

Friday and Saturday 21 and 22 June marked the opening of Clandon Wood natural burial ground in the Surrey Hills, south of Guildford. The moving spirit behind the venture is Simon Ferrar, a man whose meticulous research has made him really quite famous in Funeralworld. There can’t be anywhere he didn’t visit, nor any person he has not interviewed. We remember well when he rang the control tower of the GFG-Batesville Shard with the excited announcement, “I’ve found it! I’ve found a site!’ We googled it and verily, even at that stage, it looked good from the air. 

It has to be said that he’s got it absolutely right. Thirty acres of English meadow already, though planted only last year, looking really verdant and supporting a rich variety of wildflowers and, of course, attendant voles, raptors, owls, field mice and the voracious food chain that supports any English idyll. 

Tons of people came. We missed the ceremonial opening by sundry assorted clergyfolk and the Mayor of Guildford, Diana Lockyer-Nibbs, a splendid name. Emma Curtis, a shamanic celebrant, uttered a marvellous pagan blessing. There were some seriously brilliant speakers to follow, including Ken West, Fran Hall, Kristie West, Barbara Chalmers, Rachel Wallace, Pia Interlandi and sundry folk from local wildlife orgs. 

There was even a funeral. Simon Ferrar rehearsed his own, his pallid corse drawn by horse and cart, followed by a long procession, and in the mid-afternoon he rose again from the dead and did it once more the next day. Good idea, that, to enable people to see what a natural burial looks like. 

We very much like the ceremony hall. Indeed, we liked everything we saw and everything we heard. We thank Simon and Dani for their hospitality and their warm welcome. 

Life stories don’t tell half the story

For the living there is much pleasure to be derived from surveying a person’s life  when the busy world is hushed, and the fever of life is over, and their work is done. Dead, in other words.

Works in progress – biographies of the living – just don’t cut it.

Death focuses the mind on existential matters. The human mind abhors cosmic chaos and seeks to make sense of it. Considering the immensity of the universe and the littleness of a brain, you could call that either intellectual bravado or heroic defiance. Up here in the Midlands a dying man recently designed elements of his funeral and had the words ‘What was that all about?’ inscribed on the cover of the service sheets. Brilliant. Unsettling.

The living respond to a death with versions of the life story which draw threads together, discern patterns, make connections, explain anomalies and draw conclusions. Most of us feel our lives to be somewhat of a muddle. Fear not. Just as our deathbeds will be smoothed and tidied when we’re gone, so will our lives be, also.

Which is why we love to read obituaries in the newspapers. In the broadsheets, they follow the same format. First, the life is summed up in a single sentence:

Scholar of Latin literature with an extraordinary gift for communicating his enthusiasm for his subject

Chindit veteran who led an exhausted company of Gurkhas in a victory against a far larger enemy force

Offbeat actor and poet who played a fragile Tarzan in an Andy Warhol movie

Poet and pacifist admired for his translations of Rimbaud and Apollinaire and a leading figure in Soho’s artistic scene in the 1960s

Then follows a paragraph or two containing an illustrative anecdote which epitomises the dead person. Sometimes, a photograph serves this purpose better.

Taylor Mead’s bottom was a legend in the film world. The 1964 film ‘Taylor Mead’s Ass’ was simply footage of his naked buttocks, for over an hour, recorded for posterity by Andy Warhol.

John Lucas could claim, although he seldom did, that he had returned from death or at least from pretty close to it. Contracting sandfly fever in deep jungle during the second Chindit operation, he had to be abandoned with a full water-bottle and his revolver. Miraculously, he came round after two days and managed to catch up his column and continue on the line of march.

One day in 2007 David West went by train from Corbridge in Northumberland to Sanquhar in Dumfriesshire, carrying a long axe for use in a friend’s garden. He put it in the rack. At Carlisle he found himself surrounded by railway police. “Offensive weapon, officer? Let me show you: there is no room here to swing an axe . . .” This event prevented his journey to Sanquhar, but displayed his enthusiasm for explaining what he regarded as obvious even when prejudice or fashion might see things differently.

There then follows a chronological account of the person’s life. The account of  famous person’s life seeks to tell the whole story, secrets and all, sex secrets especially. The narrative is shaped by the author’s verdict, which is normally foregone. It is this subjective element that belies the author’s protestations of of objectivity, and accounts for the great number of disparate biographies of famous people. Mrs Thatcher has already spawned half a dozen, pro and con.

The life stories of ordinary folk like us as told in funeral eulogies are altogether different. The element of verdict — whether we were a Good Thing or a Bad Thing — is diminished. As is the shock-horror revelatory element. The prevailing element, as in biographies of the famous, is the analysis of what made us tick. That’s what everyone wants greedily to know – or have affirmed.

When all is said and done, we will, when we are dead, as we do while we are still living, mean different things to different people. We each spawn a bunch of differing life stories according to how we affect people.

The version offered at our funeral will be very much the authorised version, the official biography, because it will be a narrative created exclusively for the front row. There will likely be plenty of soft focus. There may also be any number of edits. In the matter of our faults, there is likely to be explanation and absolution. Not quite a pack of lies — but a long way from the whole truth. Closer, actually, to myth-making. But that’s okay, because the mood at a funeral is normally magnanimous.

The creation of a pen portrait of a dead person by a celebrant is the outcome of a negotiation with the immediate family, and of family members with each other. The edits are determined by consensus.  Some families will go for a warts and all approach. Others will require the warts to receive expert cosmetic treatment. The resulting depiction, if it’s the work of good wordsmith who speaks well, is likely to be regarded as quite as marvellous and valuable as a portrait in oils. If it plonks the dead person on a rearing white charger and puts a sword in his hand — well, a celebrant just has to go along with that. Sir Joshua Reynolds didn’t complain, he just banked the cheques. It’s not the job of the portraitist to speak truth to she who pays the piper.

This being so, I find it hard to understand the practice of those celebrants who treat a ceremony as if it were a present to be unwrapped in front of the family. To do so misunderstands, it seems to me, the nature of the commission. It’s also far too risky. A funeral is no place to misspeak. 

But there are two sides to this, I am sure. I wish I could see the other. You’ll probably point it out to me. 

What will be the one-sentence summary of your life, do you suppose?