Have I got it wrong?

The impact of my husband's funeral on my life has been unexpected in many ways. It was a sad but wonderful day, in which his own family and the family of his church came together, all contributing, all much moved by the occasion, and well pleased to be united at this time, though they were not, sadly, in his lifetime.



At the age of 16, I had found it impossible, logically, to believe any longer in the Christian god, and have since then called myself an agnostic, whilst leaning from time to time towards a number of other belief systems. This difference between us might have been an insuperable obstacle, but somehow we made it work, at least while we raised our children, though I believe it was always a great sadness for my husband that I could not share his faith.


Over the years, I have often been aware of how much was missing from my life by not being part of a church family. With the funeral, during the arrangements, on the day, and afterwards, this has been brought into really sharp focus, as I came to appreciate fully just how much his church meant to him, and how much he was valued by the church.



Can we not create such communities around other focal points? We can be good, caring, generous and honourable people without being Christians, and yet we do not seem to find the same all-embracing commitment, cohesiveness and purposefulness in, say, the Women’s Institute, or other social bodies of people. Or do I do them an injustice?


Some of our friends left the funeral saying that they wanted one just like it! What I do know is that there is no local community at present which will join with my family to celebrate my life, as this church community has done for my husband. Mind you, he was a very special man, in ways which I could not aspire to, but even so ………

The day after ...

It has been a comfort and delight for me over the period of my husband's funeral, to have my sons around, including No 1, who came over from Australia. Because he is currently the strongest in a family of back sufferers, we had to take advantage of his being here to begin the business of clearing out the clutter which my husband, a committed handyman, had accumulated over the years.

No bit of wood, no mechanical device, no broken object that might be repaired, was ever discarded. The homes of his family and friends will bear witness to his skill and ingenuity in the DIY field for a long time to come, but more remained unused than had ever been recommissioned, and clearance had to be made before a valuer could be brought in. He lived alone in a 4-bed, 3-recep, and only used two rooms, so there was a lot of junk-filled space, evidence of which can be seen in the picture above of the first skipful.

In some ways it was tough to start clearing out his home straight away, but having something demanding to do the day after the funeral has its advantages too. We arrived at the house with a clear plan for working on the rooms, but suddenly I found myself alone with nothing going on. I discovered the three boys out the back, where they were breaking themselves in for the more emotional task by starting in the garage. They were dragging stuff out, karate-kicking it to pieces, then hurling it into the skip. As you can see, they ended up with an exceptionally clear space which might actually have housed a car if necessary! After that they could face the indoors.

This process of sorting and disposal can be quite amusing to watch, as the dominant urge to 'get rid' in one person conflicts with the inherited urge to 'save because it could be useful' in another. What is more, after their first run to the local dump (skip not big enough!) they had come back with two trophies! An antique suitcase (which No 4 collects out of interest, and because he uses suitcases in his street theatre shows); and a three-foot long builder's spirit level made by John Rabone & Son, a now non-existent firm with which our family has close connections. I have made a considerable collection of Rabone rules and spirit levels over the years, so this was a great find.

As with most things, there has been a bright side to all the hard work involved in planning and clearing, in as much as members of the family have had some 'together time', working, playing and remembering, which is all too rare these days. We ended that first day with an early dinner in a new restaurant which was first class - indeed, in our filthy house-clearing clothes we were scarcely good enough for it! My daughter-in-law and the two grandchildren joined us, in a private room, and the evening concluded with some vigorous bargaining over who was fit to drive home, and whose car(s) could be left in town overnight. I know I was taken home, and that was all I was worried about by then!

Michael's last journey

This picture was taken a few years ago, but I saw it immediately as an allegory for the last journey that Michael would make, so very apt because he was a passionate lover of trains, and was here indulging his love of steam on the Keighley & Worth Valley Railway in Yorkshire, where he was staying with our youngest son Richard. These little railways, lovingly preserved and run by steam lovers like himself, are a great tourist attraction in the UK - and probably in other countries too. It is hard to see here, but the words on the board seen through the train window are: "Journey into the night" - also astonishingly apt in this context. My son tells me it would have been a notice of a special train excursion run in the evening, with dinner being offered on board. I hope Michael had nourishment on his journey too!

I made a collection of photographs of Michael on a CD, and we ran them as a slideshow in the church hall after the service. There were about 36 of them, covering his whole life from the age of 3. This was much appreciated, despite the fact that the quality of many of the family snaps was pretty poor, given his long life of 89 years! We also printed this picture, the final one in the slideshow, on the back of the order of service, so together with the recorded sound of the steam loco at the crematorium, we were able to give the day the special flavour that he loved.

Back on the blog

It is time now for me to write again, and to thank all my friends who sent messages of sympathy, which I so greatly appreciated.

We celebrated Michael's life on Monday, in the church which he thought of as his second family. The service, which was planned jointly by the church and ourselves, included tributes both from his own family and from members of the congregation. The choir sang a song which one of them had written to celebrate his 80th birthday nine years ago, and he was played out to the cheerful strains of "When the saints go marching in".

The flowers in the church had been done specially, and a group of church ladies had put on a terrific buffet in the church hall, which enabled us all to meet straight after the service and share our feelings and memories. I had made a collection of photographs of Michael on a CD, covering his whole life from the age of 3 and we ran them as a slideshow. This was much appreciated, despite the fact that the quality of many of the family snaps was pretty poor, given his long life of 89 years!

Later, at the crematorium, we saw Michael off on his last journey to the sounds of a steam locomotive pulling out of the station and disappearing into the distance. This was a sound he always loved so much, and I think he would have been happy to ride by train into eternity.

In memoriam

Michael, husband of Judith, 31st October 2006
~~~~~~~~~~~ Gone upon his hour ~~~~~~~~~~~

BSF & MMI

These two acronyms can be very handy for an oldie like me, especially if you have embarrassed yourself as I did today. I met in my village an old acquaintance whom I had not seen for many years except, as I thought, on the previous day in the local town. "Hullo!" I cried jovially, "twice in two days - would you believe it, after all this time?" She gazed at me in astonishment and asked me what I meant. It turned out it had been someone quite different I had seen the day before, but on that occasion I had got away with it, and not revealed that I had thought she was someone else. What I should have done this time was explain that I was suffering from BSF and on that account should be forgiven - and then make a quick exit before she could ask what I was talking about.

If you have not come across the acronym, it stands for Benign Senescent Forgetfulness, and is something that many of you will recognise, I am sure, even if you have not yet done your three score years and ten. MMI stands for Multiple Minor Impairments, another common experience among older people, even if they are generally in good health. I rather fancy popping into my doctor's surgery and saying that I think I have 'an attack' of MMI, and trying to keep a straight face while he tries to decide how to respond. Seriously though, I do like to use correct medical terms if I can, because I love words of all sorts, and I like to learn and retain them if I can, just for the sheer pleasure of knowing.

But about this tiresome BSF: memory loss is an impairment due to age, like failing eyesight and hearing, creaky joints and hair loss, but those who do not suffer from it tend to be impatient with those who do, and what is worse, in some cases to attribute stupidity to them as well. This is painful and humiliating and does nothing to improve our self-confidence. I have examined my own experience carefully over the last year or two, and I am prepared to state that BSI has caused me no accompanying loss of intelligence.

The losses I am aware of are in my short-term memory; my ability to make quick mental connections between related information (such as writing a comprehensive shopping list), and to absorb a lot of information at once (such as scanning the supermarket shelves); my vocabulary and spelling also seem to have suffered, and perhaps to some extent my judgement. And my attention span is getting noriceably shorter.

But I believe that, albeit more slowly than in the past, I am still capable of imaginative and creative thinking; of planning and organising; of determining a critical path of action to be taken, and so on. And I hope that my blog, amongst other things, stands witness to my claim, of an enduring intelligence level at least no worse than I was born with.

[I have borrowed the two cartoons from The Oldie magazine, which I hope they will not object to, as they are just what I needed to illustrate my title for this blog. ]

Tongue in cheek

[My tongue-in-cheek emoticon, which I have rotated, does not enlarge too well, because of the diagonals, but I thought it worth a shot.]



Well, that last blog was fun, but I hope you realise I was 'having a laugh' - at my own expense of course! It was written in a moment of reckless abandon, and your comments are already giving me cause to think more carefully about what I said.

First and foremost (as he is in so much, good friend that he is) Stephen has called me on my "electrifying experiments", and I have had to admit that I cannot at present make good on that claim. I cannot recall any experience I could so describe, but perhaps it is yet to come!

Then I said I had no regrets. Well, I think that is probably true in regard to the majority of the men in my life, but certainly not all, and certainly not about every aspect of my life.

And finally I suggested that alliteration was 'vulgar', which upon reflection I wish to withdraw. In excess, yes, it may well be, but I am sure it is considered a legitimate device in effective writing. And Pauline took up the alliterative challenge with relish in the comments!

I think I must remember in future to use my 'cheekicon' to flag up the post, if ever I have any more moments of 'reckless abandon'.

And now, since we are rapidly approaching Halloween, I offer you my Witchicon, devised a couple of years ago to make a Halloween badge. It really works out quite well, I think. Maybe somebody else can make use of it too.