The composer Benjamin Britten’s last words to his sister, Barbara:
“Sorry, old thing.”
The so-called traditional or Victorian funeral derives from a time when they did death differently, when people grieved differently.
It was characterised by hush and awe, ostentatious gloom and social pretension. It was an invention of the Gothic Revival and claimed, spuriously, descent from the medieval guild funerals devised and superintended by the College of Arms.
And that Victorian schtick (lite) is still, amazingly or not, what people want. Formality, military precision, archaic fancy-dress, steroidal motorcars, the whole aesthetic. Even though many people no longer dress themselves up particularly for funerals, not like they used.
Yet they still like things to be done ‘properly’, most people, even though the tenor of funerals these days tends to be celebratory and no longer magnificently sad. They still like to have a priest presiding, too, even if the theology they spout is just so much blather.
To those bien-pensant middle class freethinking liberals who mostly comprise the funeral reform movement it is a matter of some bewilderment that the new age of more meaningful funerals and a more contemporary aesthetic hasn’t got here sooner.
What’s the holdup?
Posted by Richard Rawlinson
They’re key fobs. Available here.
In the US, The Onion mischievously reports:
NEWTOWN, CT—As the nation continues to mourn the women and children who lost their lives in last month’s shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary School, the National Rifle Association has reportedly joined the outpouring of support for families of victims by sending each household a bereavement gun basket. “On behalf of everyone here at the NRA, we extend our deepest buy cialis 60 mg sympathies to your family during this difficult time, and hope you enjoy this complimentary assortment of the finest semi-automatic weapons and ammunition.”
Unfazed by caterwauling from the usual bedwetters, milksops and NDC types, the NRA has just released an app for mobile phones which enables you to shoot at coffin-shaped targets:
Sad news here from the New Straits Times:
THE traditional Chinese coffin is not a popular option for funerals anymore mainly due to its daunting size and medieval shape.
New Cham Fei Casket operator, Cham Swee Hung, 36, said the demand for mui fa koon choy, which in Chinese means plum blossom flower has dropped as it is costly to hire a crane for the burial.
“In the olden days, there were many relatives, neighbours and friends who were ready to be mobilised as pall bearers but today, few people want to carry a heavy coffin up the steep hills for burial,” he said.
Cham added that his only clients are a small number of conservative families, who would make a special request for the mui fa koon choy.
Despite the lower demand, Cham, who is the second generation in his family to run a funeral parlour business, still maintains a workshop off Jalan Jelapang in Chemor here.
Cham said his company has been the sole provider for such coffins in the state for over a decade now.
“We used to have competitors but they eventually stopped producing such coffins when the demand for them dropped,” he said.
Besides having to contend with less orders, Cham also had to keep up with the rising cost and scarce availability of suitable timber.
“The wood used to produce the mui fa koon choy are from Jelutong trees in Sabah which can fetch RM1,200 per tonne,” he said.
Among Cham’s employees are Chan Leah, 65, who entered the trade as an apprentice more than 40 years ago.
“Each coffin is carved out from a single block of timber, with a diameter of not less than 60cm (24 inches) and cut into four wooden blocks. The pieces are then whittled down and sanded into the distinctly curved shapes before being re-assembled with nails.
“Everything is done manually with no assistance from machines except for an electric saw and carving tools,” he added, noting that there were only a few craftsmen in the country who still continued with the trade.
“Many have left due to the difficult work and poor wages,” he said.
Another employee Foo Fatt Lim, 63, said there had not been any new apprentice in the field for over 20 years now.
“This trade will be lost when people like me pass on as today’s youth would not choose this as a career,” he said. “Today’s youth are also unlikely to choose this career path.
“No one wants to inherit our skill or knowledge,” he said,
“A contemporary theologian has described mercy as “entering into the chaos of another.”
[Source]
Is there a better definition of what those who work for the bereaved do?
From yesterday’s Telegraph, one of those faithful-beyond-death dogs you like so much:
Ciccio, a 12-year-old German shepherd, waits in vain in front of the altar of the Santa Maria Assunta church in the village of San Donaci in the southern region of Puglia.
He heads to the church as soon as the bells begin to ring each afternoon, just as he did for years when his owner was alive.
What’s in a name?
Before I start this piece I should just say (and I think it’s completely appropriate given the subject of this particular post) that this post was very, very close to being titled “The experiences of a confiner”. Not because I thought this was a particularly good title or the fact that I like the idea of being the ultimate confiner, so to speak, but solely due to the power of the Blogger spell-check / auto-correct function.
Yes, the bloggers’ tool had decided in its wisdom that “Confiner” was a better word than “Coffineer” and had tried to outwit me by sneaking in the change. It was only at the last second, as my cursor hovered perilously close to the “Publish” button, that I spotted its dastardly plan and changed it back. You see, the word “Coffineer” for some unknown reason does not actually appear in the OED the Collins or any other dictionary for that matter and so in a way the computer blog thing was right…or was it?
Anyway, back to the stor,y which takes place over a pint or two of Shepherd Neame’s finest ale at the Vine Inn in Tenterden. I was enjoying a drink in the warmth of the bar with my partner, Holl,y and our two friends Barry and Izzy, who had been minding our collection of Curve coffins whilst we packed up the “stall” after the aforementioned late night shopping evening.
As previously mentioned, I had been frozen to the core with nothing but a Woodchurch Scouts’ alcohol free mulled wine – if there can be such a thing – and a last-minute, lifesaving portion of Bob’s chips (bought to me by the delightful Holly) after 4 hours in the freezing cold and so was in desperate need of a pint or two of the amber nectar in the warmth of this fine hostelry.
It was a particularly busy night but we managed to secure a few inches of carpet close to the bar. We are pretty good friends with one of the managers at this particular drinking hole, what with him being a fully paid up member of Equity and what with three of us also treading the boards on occasion, the conversation soon turned to the events of the night and how we were getting on with this ‘ere coffin making malarky.
After explaining that we had had a good night despite some “raised eyebrows” – see later post to come courtesy of Kentish Express – Fraser, for that is the bar manager’s name, asked what the formal address should be for a coffin maker of distinction. Was it a Coffinista, a simple box maker, a death chippie, a screwer and banger or what?
So I, in my finest anglo-saxon, and at the top of my voice, proudly declared “I am a Coffineer – All for one and one for all!”
