I recently got to thinking about the very first funeral I attended.
My maternal great grandfather had suffered with lung cancer but I am not sure of his age when he finally passed. Maybe he was in his early seventies or so. I was 11 and my little sister was 8. I know our ages for certain as it was my sisters 8th birthday. Poor sis... Often on a Saturday afternoon I went to our local football ground with Gramps and of late, he had been in a wheelchair so we got to stand pitch side and pass the ball back to the footballers (with their hunky chunky thighs, sorry I digress). Gramps was always in a tie and hat, common in men who were brought up in the early part of the 20th Century. A true cockney, he was always smart, immaculate, friendly and a gentleman. He adored all the ladies in his life; his wife, daughter, granddaughter and great granddaughters.
My mum, grandmother, sister and friend and I arrived in my nan's VW camper at Gramps' home in time to go to football. We pulled up at their home to find an ambulance was parked out side. My nan looked at my mum and said 'Oh Angela, no!' I'll never forget the face she made and the fear in her voice. It was my very first experience of anything remotely traumatic and has burned its way into my brain for always. 'Girls, stay in the van'. They exited the van and dashed into the house. After a short while, they returned, ashen, and told us that he had died. I don't remember what they said, or how they said it. The facts were that he was visiting the toilet to make ready to leave with us for football and he just died. My great grandmother, Nancy, found him and called the ambulance.
We all went back into the house and I remember walking past the toilet and feeling so sad. I was probably crying, I cry at everything and if memory serves, I cried constantly at his death. We went into the lounge and I marvelled at seeing his hat, a titfer, and leather gloves placed neatly on the sofa, ready for him to put on for football. Nancy was very kind to my sister and I but I can't remember what she said.
Gramps left his home in a wooden coffin placed in a hearse as that was how people were removed from home in those days. I think I prefer it to the nowadays option of a stretcher and a van.
My parents asked my sister and I if we wanted to attend his funeral which was nearly a fortnight later because of the Easter holidays, and we decided that we would like to attend. Gramps' coffin was covered in purple material. I kid you not. Like a quilt, purple and itchy looking with a cross cross diamond pattern. I remember Nancy telling me that I wasn't to cry unless I saw her cry but that did me no good whatsoever and I sobbed constantly despite me trying to focus on her and her lace hanky she was wrining.
My paternal grandmother took charge of me and told my folks she would wait at the back of the chapel with me but by the time we went to take our place, the chapel was full and they started filling in the places to the side of the coffin! Can you believe it?! Right at the front, next to Gramps in his purple quilted coffin! For me to sob and sob and sob some more, right at the front!
In front of everyone!
