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Funeral Games
My mother must have been one of the last people left standing who had actually witnessed the Battle of Britain. We were reading her diary for the war years- in preparation for her memorial service- and it's mostly rather dull- but there are days when she couldn't help but record something interesting, like the day a bomb landed in her front garden and blew out all the south facing windows; like seeing a German bomber (only she says "Hun") come falling out of the sky; like watching dogfights high up over her Kentish home....
Yesterday as we were greeting people at the church door a Spitfire flew over. Later, as we walked from the church to the garden of Remembrance it flew over again.
I was sitting in the pub afterwards with her former neighbours and Chris was saying how she and Herbie were at an air show when a Lancaster bomber went over and someone who was with them said what a comforting sound it was and Herbie, said "O, no it isn't!" He was a boy during the war- in Germany- and for him it meant he had to dive under the nearest hedge...
Most of the close family were able to make it- ten of them children. There were some racing friends, a few neighbours, a couple of carers who have turned into family friends and Matthew- also a family friend- who used to work in our garden and lop our trees. The only person of her generation or near it was John- who used to work (as a draughtsman, I think) in my father's engineering firm. He is very frail...
Ivy- her great granddaughter- who is ten, wore her old army jacket. It's a pretty good fit. My mother was a small woman....
Two of her grandsons poured her ashes into the grave.
Afterwards there was football and rushing about in the pub garden. I took a bunch of pictures for the family WhatsApp- and captioned them "funeral games".
Between the service and the knees-up I took a stroll back into the churchyard. My mother's ashes lie next to my father's- who, by a happy chance we didn't take into account when planning the event- would have been 102 yesterday. I took a moment alone with them. "See you upstairs," I said.
Yesterday as we were greeting people at the church door a Spitfire flew over. Later, as we walked from the church to the garden of Remembrance it flew over again.
I was sitting in the pub afterwards with her former neighbours and Chris was saying how she and Herbie were at an air show when a Lancaster bomber went over and someone who was with them said what a comforting sound it was and Herbie, said "O, no it isn't!" He was a boy during the war- in Germany- and for him it meant he had to dive under the nearest hedge...
Most of the close family were able to make it- ten of them children. There were some racing friends, a few neighbours, a couple of carers who have turned into family friends and Matthew- also a family friend- who used to work in our garden and lop our trees. The only person of her generation or near it was John- who used to work (as a draughtsman, I think) in my father's engineering firm. He is very frail...
Ivy- her great granddaughter- who is ten, wore her old army jacket. It's a pretty good fit. My mother was a small woman....
Two of her grandsons poured her ashes into the grave.
Afterwards there was football and rushing about in the pub garden. I took a bunch of pictures for the family WhatsApp- and captioned them "funeral games".
Between the service and the knees-up I took a stroll back into the churchyard. My mother's ashes lie next to my father's- who, by a happy chance we didn't take into account when planning the event- would have been 102 yesterday. I took a moment alone with them. "See you upstairs," I said.
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