The Rise of the Pintrest Funeral

I'm from a big family and in big families people die. A funeral was a reasonably common childhood occurrence.  Not every week, or anything, but often enough so that they seemed a normal part of life and not really that big a deal.

Now that I'm an adult funerals seem to be a very big deal.

The funerals of my childhood consisted of turning up at a house in a smart dress (Dad will have fetched his black tie from the back of the wardrobe), taking the flowers out of the car and putting them on the front lawn.  Then we would go inside and have a cup of tea, while grown-ups dabbed the corner of their eyes with proper handkerchiefs, until the funeral directors arrived.  These were always large, whistling men, with a twinkle in their eye and a wink for us children. I once asked one why he was so cheerful, in the circumstances and he shrugged and said, "The worst has already happened kiddo." We would then all bundle into our various cars and drive too slowly behind the hearse.

It was always raining.

At the crematorium we stood huddled under umbrellas while the men took the coffin out and we followed it in.  The vicar or celebrant said a few words, always getting some of the details wrong. We sang the Lord's My Shepherd (badly).  The coffin slowly disappeared behind some doors, into what I always imagined to be a dragon powered furnace.  Tears flowed, quietly, except maybe for an odd aunt who would have a full sobbing breakdown and a prayer was said. We stood up, shuffled out and went to the pub or back to the house for a glass of Sherry and a cucumber sandwich.  Aunts and Uncles would plaster you with unwelcome kisses, tell you that you've grown and everyone would agree that they should meet more often, "although, next time, in better circumstances." Better circumstances, like weddings, often ended in a fight but funerals were reasonably jolly affairs, with beer and reminiscings.  I quite liked funerals.

Now, as an adult, everyone I know who has organised a funeral seems to treat it like the event of the century.

 I thought, at first, this was because I wasn't posh enough.  Our family funerals weren't in church or attended by grown ups with degrees.  As a member of the 'good' school choir I did sing at a few funerals in church; the huge funeral for the girl in my year who was run over on her way home from school, the funeral for a teacher who had loved Fats Waller (so we sang Ain't Misbehaving), the funeral for an ex-headmaster and school governer, for whom we sang everything in Latin.  It still wasn't a huge performance.  The congregation sang The Lord's My Shepherd and the Vicar got some details about the person's life wrong.  Having the school choir there just meant that the hymns were in tune.  At a church funeral the shuffling outside was to wait for the immediate family while they stood by the big muddy hole in the ground in the rain.  I don't know if these people went to the pub, had cucumber sandwiches and a glass of sherry or hired the local stately home for a Pimms and Prosecco knees up because I always had to go back to school.

These days, everyone in the immediate family has to say something.  They deliver a witty, pithy, funny eulogy.  The children read a poem.  Musicians play a piece (I've lost count of the number of children who have asked me to write out Somewhere Over the Rainbow because, "It was Grandma's favourite song and Mum thought it would be nice if I played it at the funeral on my flute." Music is chosen to reflect the life of the person.  Gone are the days when everyone started crying at the the word 'lie' in the Lord's My Shepherd because that note was just slightly out of range for most normal human beings.  Now, I'm Forever Blowing Bubbles can be the hymn of choice (although probably not for a Millwall fan).  Coffins are brightly coloured and invitations are sent reminding people that Great Aunt Dotty was a happy soul and she would hate people to wear black.  The pub or a cucumber sandwich and glass of Sherry isn't an option anymore, as the wake is catered like a wedding.  There is a remembrance table, where people can write about the person and put it in a jar, there are flowers, cakes and candles, tastefully placed around a large photo.  There is a basket of tissues labelled, "for happy tears." but no one from the immediate family is crying.  They are working too hard to host the party.  Grief will be postponed to a more convenient time.

I blame Richard Curtis and Pintrest.  It won't stop me watching Four Weddings and a Funeral and blubbing when John Hannah reads Auden's Stop the Clocks, so beautifully and because I promised myself that I will spend the school holidays seriously writing I have spent the day making funeral Pintrest boards.

  However, I hope that when it comes to arranging my funeral none of my family think they have to do any more than shuffle in from the rain, listen to the celebrant get the details of my life wrong, sing the Lord's My Shepherd badly, begin to grieve and go to the pub.  If they want to put on a concert or show about my life they can do it later, when they feel less numb about the whole thing but only if it's funny.