Michael Evans - Funerals in 2011

PLEASE NOTE that this is not a diary but an attempt to leave writings intended for future social historians in 2525 and beyond. The 2525 is taken from the song by Zager and Evans,,,,

In the year 2525
If man is still alive
If woman can survive
They may find…..

　
As I mentioned in the last blog, my good friend Michael Evans passed on and last week. I went to his funeral and wake. Michael Evans was a prominent person in Exeter, a teacher, and I belive a head master, and a Justice of the Peace. Interested in people and the environment Michael was a renowned Spiritualist and leader at his church. He corresponded with people all over the world about his ideas into his nineties. He treated everybody as if they were his true friend and I noticed that everyone had the feeling they were the one who received his special attention – including me. He never failed to listen to troubles or happenings with rapped attention and an exclamation of ‘No – really, how interesting – or sad’ as the case may be. Yet one never heard him complain about anything except to say he was ‘so busy’. I understand he just slipped away quietly sitting in a chair, which is as I would expect for Michael. His belief in a another world waiting beyond was unshakeable and he helped many who were grieving and bereft after a death. I wish him a wonderful time in his new life and look forward to seeing him there sometime to renew our friendship.

                                 
　
I thought I would take this opportunity to write about death and funerals in 2011. I am of an age when attending funerals are more likely than invitations to wedding. Friends particularly seem to be leaving with monotonous regularity. Three have gone within the year, two of whose funerals I have attended.

There is a peculiar sanitation of death and funerals today. When I was young it was all about ‘respects’ being paid and sombre faces and clothes. It was a panic, if you were poor, to find black clothes. People were hushed and only came back to life when plied with a sherry or beer at the wake, which in itself is a name that is now not used. You are invited back either to the home or a hotel, as was the case this week, for something to eat. I guess that goes back to the time when travelling to a funeral meant a long cold journey and it was polite to offer food before returning. We English have never had the lively wakes of the Celts in recent times.

Most funerals are at crematoria these days and even if the service is in a church the body is still taken to be cremated rather than buried. Indeed I have only ever been to one interment. So one congregates outside a chapel at one door while the people at the last funeral are shown out by another door on the other side. Most crematoria these day are so busy each funeral is given scant time for the service. The service itself can be of any religion or none that is wanted or asked for by the deceased. I have been at everything from Jerhove Witness to Michael’s which was Spiritualist. The mourners enter and sit down and then the coffin is brought in by the funeral directors black coated men either carrying the deceased or as with Michael, pushed on a foldable trolley.

As an aside, the funeral directors are the last people in the country one sees in Victorian style ‘frock coats’ and top hats. The bearers are possibly in modern suits but they are very severe and a bit old fashion in cut. In winter they wear black overcoats.

Followed by the relations, the coffin is taken down the aisle and placed on a platform of some kind. The service begins and usually consists of two hymns, prayers and eulogies by friends and relations or a resume of the deceased life by the spoken by the priest, parson, or leader of a church. This is where I often find out things about the person I never knew.

Finally some kind of farewell is spoken and the coffin is taken from view. In crematoria I have seen them disappear downwards, forward though opening doors, slide sideways or have curtains drawn round them. In a church they will be taken back down the aisle by the black coated men and everyone goes to the interment if there is one or the body is taken to the local crematoria. In the chapels everyone leaves by the other door to give way to the next funeral, gives a donation if that is what has been requested, Michael asked for it to go to ‘Wateraid’ which I was quite happy to do, or one looks at the floral tributes which are placed outside. After a word with the family its off to have a sandwich and a cup of tea of coffee. Michael did us proud at a lovely hotel and it was lovely to have a chat with everyone.

So ends each life these days and one has to return quickly to one’s ordinary life. Very little chance is given to feel grief or sadness and one is expected to ‘get on with it’. Often the near family is rather left to on their own as people are not sure how to deal with them. Other parts of the world seem to have ways of dealing with this time but here we are not good at it. We leave it to priests and parsons and societies that specialise in it and train counsellors. Families rarely live near any more and the bereaved are forgotten. Very sad. We don’t do it well at all.