A Funeral

[rhythmaning]

I went to a funeral on Saturday - a curious day for a funeral: I have been to weddings on a Saturday, of course, but never a funeral.

It was for someone I had known all my life, but I was there really to represent my late parents and my brother, rather than myself specifically: I just felt that one of us should be there. (My brother is abroad and couldn't go.)

I hadn't seen Martin for ten years or so, aside from my mother's funeral four years ago, and it would be wrong to say we were close. So I was a little surprised how affecting I found the service: it was very moving.

Another old family friend, Ann Louise, told stories from their shared student days - and which featured my parents - and read out a roll call of their contemporaries who had died. (I had been at many of the funerals.)

I think it was the emotional presence of my parents that made it such a moving experience.

His widow gave a more personal eulogy, describing his life with his family, and I learned that Martin was the grandson of Sir Arthur Tansley - a botanist whose work greatly influenced me as a student. I have no idea why neither Martin (who knew I studied botany) nor my parents mentioned this, but I was both excited to learn this and disappointed - if only I had known thirty years ago! (This should perhaps be another post...!) Perhaps this sounds a bit solipsistic but it was one if the things I learned from his life that had a direct connection to me (rather than a vicarious link through my parents, perhaps).

Martin's daughter - who I don't think I had met before - have a very personal account of life with her father - including that he was a fervent atheist - a bit of a surprise since we were in a 13th century CoE church. But he was also a believer of the village and the church as a building, so maybe it made sense. I did wonder what the officiating vicar made of it.

I spent much of the wake talking to Ann Louise and Larry, who was my father's best man and from whom my brother takes one if his names. Although he was at my mother's funeral, I had no recollection of having met Larry before - he spent much the 1960s, 70s and 80s abroad. (I had thought that maybe he and my father may have had some sort of falling out, but I checked with Ann Louise beforehand. I must admit the idea of some deeply suppressed skeletons sounded interesting. Perhaps I should make some up. There are enough stories of my father that it wouldn't be hard...)

Other people kept telling me how much like my father I looked. And how much like my mother my brother looks. And how much like my brother I look.

I drank a fair bit of champagne.

All in all, an interesting afternoon.

Comments

[nicnac.livejournal.com]

I do find it odd how people are fixated on who looks like whom. My mother is particularly obsessed and I just think that people are bound to resemble their relatives, genes being wot they are, so I'd find it more worthy of note if they didn't.