My Father’s House

Awdri and Allan Doyle are funeral directors in Galashiels. Their new business has been open for just a year. You can read what we think of them here

When Awdri’s Dad died in October, Awdri wanted Amazing Grace at the funeral — the tune rather than the words. She says, “Some hymn tunes are lovely but does anybody actually understand what they are singing or do they just go through the motions?”

So she’s written her own words and she has offered them to you. Do use them if you’d like — and if you do, let her know, perhaps. 

My Father’s House

 

My Father’s house has many rooms,

Enough for you and me.

Believe in God, He loves us so,

He comes to take us home.

 

We know not how, or where and when,

The path He has prepared.

Trust in our God, He loves us so,

He comes to take us home.

He is the way, the truth, the life,

To our Father He will lead.

There is no way, except through Him,

He comes to take us home.

 

As we proceed to journey home,

To him give thanks and praise.

He welcomes us with open arms

“My child, you’re safely home”.

 

Now home at last where we belong,

Within our Father’s house.

To Father, Son and Holy Ghost

You came to take me home.

  

Tune: Amazing Grace (New Britain)

Thank You For Being My Dad

Surprisingly, perhaps, this is not more popular at funerals. Simple and catchy. 

A son rarely tells his Father
How he really feels,
A handshake or a pat on the back 
is all that he reveals,
I’d like to right that wrong,
Here in this little song.

Thank you for shaping my life,
Thank you for teaching me all you can,
You are no ordinary man,
You make me everything I am.

Thank you for taking the time,
Thank you for showing me the way,
And thank you for being there
 when I need you,
Thank you for every single day.

Now I’ve been blessed with a son of my own,
Got my own bedtime stories to tell,
If I can raise him half as well
 as you raised me,
Guess I’ll be doing pretty well.

Thank you for your guiding hand,
Thank you for making my dreams come true,
You’re an extraordinary man,
And I hope you’re as proud of me
As I am proud of you.

Thank you for giving me life,
Thank you for showing me good from bad.
I guess I’m only really trying to say,
Thank you for being my Dad.

Even though the years drift away, 
I
never took the time just to say,
‘I love you, and I always have,
And thank you for being my Dad.’

‘Thank you for being my Dad.’

Hat-tip to Peter

In Memory

Andras Schram, the maker, says: 7 years ago I lost my grand father, I was unable to make it to his funeral as I was travelling. The first moment I had a chance I visited his grave. It was late fall in Hungary and as I looked around I saw how beautiful the light was in the cemetery..I wondered deeper and deeper and started taking photos. I made this slideshow than but never shared it to just a select few. I have than lost the photos for a long time and found them recently, since than my grand mother has joined with my grand father and I am dedicating this slideshow to them.

I found the head stones, the cemetery to be a book about stories never told, just a few names a few sculptures, yet after taking over a thousand photos the stories started to come alive and I in an interesting way found peace in this place.

The music is from Nawang Kechog, from the album “Music as Medicine” Nawang is an incredible artist and I could not find any other music that would compliment these photos in such an incredible way!

Threnody: a progress report

Posted by Tim Clark

Threnody is a group of people mostly drawn from the ranks of Bangor Community Choir. We are ready to sing at funerals in places that don’t normally have choral singing, particularly at crematoria. Charles has already been kind enough to feature us here, and I felt it might be time for an update. 

We have settled into a pattern of monthly practices, in a local village hall, with add-ons when we feel like it in a friendly front room, and last-minute work-ups when we need to prepare for a funeral. We have sung at seven funerals so far: two in one crem, two at another, one at a village hall prior to a woodland burial, and one – well, that was Threnody’s first tour abroad. More on that below. 

That’s about one in five of the funerals I’ve helped with (I’m a celebrant) since we got going. When I’m meeting a family, it’s sometimes easy to tell whether or not Threnody might be wanted. It’s often been observed that people want something familiar at such a time, so sometimes the response is “oh no, that sounds a bit unusual, he wouldn’t have wanted that.” I don’t want to coax them, but I don’t want them to miss the opportunity to have something that might make a lot of difference to the ceremony. Tricky balance. 

Sometimes we are asked to help because the family want a hymn or two, and they are worried that it will sound thin with a small congregation; then they may be happy to hear that we can also sing, unaccompanied by organ and congregation, at particular moments. Entry, committal, departure are obvious points. 

One lady, who was quite unsure about the idea to start with, was much moved by “Ar Hyd y Nos” at entry, and “Dona Nobis Pacem” at committal. We also joined the congregation to sing in unison along with the organ for a couple of hymns we didn’t have ready in parts. But I hope it doesn’t sound arrogant to say that we are not there just to swell the numbers along with the organ. The effect of a capella singing seems to be quite different – lighter, more immediate, I think more engaging. 

Sometimes, of course, a family is delighted and surprised that I can offer four-part, unaccompanied singing. We have a repertoire of about 20 songs and hymns. It’s not possible, alas, for us to learn a new song at three days’ notice, but the choice is reasonably wide and includes some well-known songs. 

Favourites include “Ar Hyd y Nos/All Through the Night,” “Morning Has Broken,” “Calon Lan,” “Guide Me O Thou Great Redeemer,” “Amazing Grace,” as well as less obvious but effective choices such as “Eriskay Love Lament,” “Dona Nobis Pacem” as a round, “Sith Shaimh Leat” which is Gaelic for something close to “rest in peace.” All of these last three have worked very well in crematoria. We’re pleased with the repertoire we’ve worked up, and we’ll probably only add to it slowly, to keep us fresh. 

Interestingly, two families have said “we want hymns but we don’t want an organ.” So we sing, in harmony, the first phrase of the hymn just as an organist would play it, slowing down at the end, back to the start and then the congregation comes in. Provided I explain beforehand that’s what we’ll be doing, it works well. Hearing a Welsh/English congregation of fifty roaring through “Guide Me” with us is gooseflesh time! 

The members of Threnody love singing and are very committed to the work; for those who have perhaps been to very few funerals before, it can be quite a tough call. At a village hall, some of the sopranos were singing just a few feet from people in tears, and of course the songs themselves open up the emotions – that’s their job. 

We’ve overcome one crisis, when Colin and Anne Douglas left us to move to Scotland. They are both trained musicians, both sing like angels, and Colin did most of our arrangements. He also conducted us in our first five funerals. Franki has taken over the job twice now, very effectively, and we have at least three other members practising the role. We miss Colin and Anne very much – but you never know what talents a group of people have until you ask, do you? 

Administering Threnody can be tricky. Some of us work part-time or flexibly, some are retired, and all have to be contacted quickly. I don’t want to suggest Threnody to a family and then find out we haven’t got enough members available. But when we’re at work, enriching a crematorium funeral, it’s worth every anxious text and email. 

It must be said that the village hall funeral was the choir’s favourite – intimate, informal, much less time pressure on the whole thing.

And the foreign tour? 

An anxious lady phoned me from Shrewsbury. She knew it was a long shot but she wanted choral singing in Welsh at the funeral, and no-one was available locally. She said she would book transport for us and contribute to our favourite charity. I was very disappointed because I wasn’t available, and any case a local celebrant had been booked. I asked the choir how they felt. They were a bit startled, but they rose to the occasion, and they swept down from Bangor to Shrewsbury in a bus, sang for the lady, and when they got back in the bus, the good lady had put a hamper of sandwiches in there for them. I’m told they sung all the way home. The good lady was delighted with them.

I call that Bangor 1, Shrewsbury 0… 

Soundtrack to your funeral, anyone?

A charming email arrives from Phil Smith. Phil is the founder of Soundtracktoyour.com.

“Soundtracktoyour-dot-com??” we hollered at the hunched and desperate-eyed GFG galley-slaves. Answer came there none. Never heard of it. 

Phil says:

We at Soundtracktoyour.com are pleased to be announce that in October this month our site moves to Open Beta! The reason I mention it, apart from paternal pride, is that we are the website where people can tell us all what songs they want to be remembered by at their funerals and check out what others want or have had. You might be as surprised as we were, for instance, when you see that the funeral songs Boris Johnson wants for his funeral were replicated at Heath Leger’s funeral.

Go see for yourself here.

What do you think? 

Sea la vie

From the Guardian, 1 July 2011:

For three soothing weeks in autumn, the endless roaring traffic on London’s Euston Road, one of the most choked and grime-polluted in the capital, will have competition: the sound of waves breaking and pebbles crunching, relayed live from Chesil beach in Dorset and wrapped in a sound sculpture around the Wellcome Collection building.

Ken Arnold, head of public programmes at the Wellcome, said: “Bill Fontana [who created the installation called White Sound] brilliantly confuses our sense of where we are and what we are experiencing. Just by closing our eyes he manages to turn one of Europe’s nosiest and most polluted roads into a live seascape. It will be fascinating to see how the public responds to the English Channel crashing on to the Euston Road outside the Wellcome Collection.”

Fontana is based in San Francisco, but has installed sound sculptures all over the world, including filling the Arc de Triomphe in Paris with the sound of waves crashing on the D-Day landing beaches on the Normandy coast.

He has already used Chesil beach in a piece for the Maritime Museum at Greenwich, south London, where visitors are surprised to encounter the sound of waves welling up from the grass as they walk along the path to the landlocked museum devoted to the history of the sea.

It’d make a nice backdrop for ‘silent reflection’ in funeral services — or for a committal, especially for a sea-lover. As Sue Gill said on this blog a fortnight or so ago: 

A text that really resonates for me is from John F. Kennedy’s book The Sea which he wrote in 1962:  ‘ I really don’t know why it is that all of us are so committed to the sea. I think it’s because we all came from the sea. It is an extremely interesting biological fact that all of us have in our veins the exact same percentage of salt in our blood that exists in the ocean. And therefore we have salt in our blood, in our sweat, in our tears. We are tied to the ocean, and when we go back to the sea we are going back from whence we came.’

Ain’t Going Yet

Billy Jenkins is a guitarist, composer, bandleader, performer & humanist funeral officiant in London. These are his funeral wishes:

Simple cremation for me

From Poppy’s.

No funeral.
No music – for when a musician dies, there is nothing but

Silence…..

If anyone wishes to:
Choose just one of my pieces of music.
Play loud.
Really listen and feel the resonation.
When finished, raise a glass  and shout three times:

‘Oh YEAH!’
‘Oh YEAH!’
‘Oh YEAH!’

Lyric extract for ‘I Am A Man From Lewisham’

Wherever I die – bring my ash and bone

Back to the place – that I call home

Been north and south

And east and west

I know the place – that I love best

‘Cause I’m a man – from Lewisham

Oh yes I am – From Lewisham.

As reviewed in the Daily Mirror:

    ‘One of the great unclassifiable forces in the British underground. His ever-fascinating career takes a joyful turn on an album of pubsy knees-ups, blues growling and deliriously rude brass. He also conducts humanist funerals. Versatile!’ 
                                                         Gavin Martin / The Daily Mirror

 Here is a song he wrote.

I still got some teeth
Grey matter underneath
So hold the funeral wreath
I Ain’t Going Yet

I can still walk
And  boy how I can talk
Get that wine uncorked 
I Ain’t Going Yet

Where’s the time gone? 
I don’t know
I just arrived now it’s time to go
Seems that I can’t have no more
Death is knockin’ at my door

Excuse me if I ask it
But I don’t need no casket
You don’t seem to grasp it
I Ain’t Going Yet 
OH NO!
I Ain’t Going Yet 
OH NO!
I Ain’t Going Yet 
OH NO!

Just one last request
Before I’m laid to rest
There’s  something I must stress
I Ain’t Going Yet 
OH NO!
I Ain’t Going Yet 
OH NO!
I Ain’t Going Yet 
OH NO!
I Ain’t Going Yet 
OH NO!

[wadya mean OH NO!? You mean OH YEAH!!] 
© 2000 Billy Jenkins  PRS/MCPS

    from the CD ‘LIFE’ VOTP  VOCD 023

Striking the right note

John Graham leaves St Andrew’s United Reformed Church in his Fender Stratocaster coffin fashioned by — who else? — Crazy Coffins.  The lifelong rocker came out to the strains of the Shadows’ Wonderful Land. Read the full story in the Mail here. Note: the Mail misattributes the making of the coffin to the funeral director.

Goodbye to you my trusted friend

Posted by Richard Rawlinson, our funeral music correspondent.

It’s 1974, there are three day weeks in Britain due to fuel shortages, and, across the Pond, President Richard Nixon is resigning over the Watergate scandal. And the radio soundtrack to these troubled times includes some of the cheesiest treatments of death in pop history: Gilbert O’Sulivan’s ‘Alone Again (Naturally)’ (above) and (below) Paper Lace’s ‘Billy, Don’t be a Hero’:

Then we come to the nadir of them all, Terry Jacks’ ‘Seasons in the Sun’. ‘We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun/But the hills that we climbed were just seasons out of time,” croons Jacks, as he appears to say goodbye in preparation for death by ‘too much wine and too much song’. I concur with the latter.

In fact, the maudlin hit has more credible, ‘Continental Cool’ roots, its original being Jacques Brel’s 1961 release, Le Moribund:

And amazingly, Kurt Cobain also recorded a cover of the Jacks version with Nirvana in the 1990s, which has added resonance as a suicide note from the junkie grunge star:

But if civil celebs out there ever get to play a rendition of ‘Seasons in Sun’ on the crem sound system, I do hope it’s this distinctly upbeat version by campy Cali-punk cover band, Me First and the Gimme Gimmes. Somehow, it’s the most moving of the lot:

New Orleans comes to London

Posted by Vale

Celebrant Kim Farley went to Abram Wilson’s memorial service a week or so ago. He was a young American Jazz Musician who died unexpectedly aged just 38. She writes: ‘There was a procession from the South Bank to St John’s in Waterloo and once inside the relative cool of the packed church, there was more music and singing and readings and a brilliant eulogy by his young widow. I didn’t know him, but she helped everyone get a strong sense of his vibrancy, humour and spirit.

They were together for 3 years. He died at 38. She spoke of how he’d usually be talking to her so happily in the morning that he’d join her on the walk to the tube station when she left for work. And then like as not, stay with her, down to the platform. Where she would miss the first train. And the second. And then usually get the 4th, on which he might just have decided to accompany her anyway. “It’s just a train ride, Baby”.

Here’s Abram himself playing some modern New Orleans Jazz (by Wynton Marsalis)