Tickets, Money, Passport?

Reading the last two posts over at Real E Fun, I have been reminded of my great grandmother's funeral. Actually since reading of the two dreadful nieces I haven't really stopped thinking about it. Not in a bad way of course, but as an experience that I genuinely feel honoured to have been a part of.

When Nanna died, she had always said she wanted Graham Mayberry to do her funeral. Graham was, and may indeed still be, a radio DJ in Perth who hosted an evening chat show that was a big favourite of my Nannas. Much to my juvenile mortification Nan would ring up from time to time and tell him of our exploits. Or in her eyes achievements. Anyway when she died I remembered this and deliberated for a few days over calling him and asking him to do the service. As he was a minor celebrity I was more than a little embarrassed to follow this up and it took a little prodding from dear friend who also agreed to come and be moral support.

Graham was very kind and though he hadn't spoken to Nan for a few years remembered her and agreed to do the service. All he needed was someone to give him some background. This was where I came in. Nanna had died at the age of 90 and had, by this stage, lost most of her immediate family. Her siblings, children and old friends had largely passed away and though my great grandfather was still alive he wasn't in a position to do it. I had grown up very close to my Nanna and had spent a lot of time listening to her talk of her life. As a child this was infinitely fascinating to me to try and reconcile this very old woman with a life in the countryside, singing in a concert or working in a shop. Anything was better than her telling me I hadn't brushed my hair.

So it was that I nervously met him at his offices where we talked for an hour or so whilst he made a few discreet notes along the way. Leaving I realised I'd found it such a pleasurable experience, being able to recall and speak fondly of a beloved great grandmother and to be able to share some of the stories she had told me.

Graham's service was fantastic, he'd incorporated everything I'd said in a way that you thought he'd known her all his life. I remember standing by the grave next to my mother, watching the assembled crowd and thinking how much she would have enjoyed it. The sun came out just as we were to inter her and though not by nature a religious person, I saw it as a sign that it had all gone well.

My great grandfather's funeral, by contrast, was quite different, due mainly to the rather strange Baptist vicar for hire and his rather amusing evangical ways. I'll tell you about that another time.

PS - title refers to the depth that she was buried at. The plot was dug to accommodate my grandmother (d.o.d: 1955), my great grandmother and then finally my great grandfather.