What not to wear at a funeral

It’s funny what you can have a disagreement over. Last week Jane and I had a slight disagreement over what to wear at a funeral, if it rains. Apparently, ‘it often rains at funerals and funerals are always on a Friday’. I’m of an age where I go to more funerals than weddings these days. In the last couple of years, I have attended too many funerals. Only one of them took place on a Friday, and although some were held on an overcast and grey day, it didn’t rain at any of them.

So, I’m not sure why last Sunday we were having a discussion as to what might be appropriate to wear at a funeral, if it rained. My choice was a large all-weather Paramo hiking jacket. It is black, comfortable and completely waterproof – but apparently very unsuitable wear for a funeral. I don’t possess a raincoat, and my only non-Paramo coat was a long wool coat, alright in the winter, not so great in the summer.   

Deciding that there was no win-win solution this time, I packed the car, including my Paramo and off we set, destined for Cardiff. It was a tedious journey. It should have taken us around four hours, but instead took six. We were in Cardiff for a funeral; my mum’s funeral. She was 91 years old and had lived with dementia for a number of years, getting frailer all the time. For most of the last two years, she had lived in a residential care home and was extremely well cared for. My dad, 94 years old, visited her every single day.

My parents had chosen to be buried at the Cardiff and Vale Natural Burial ground; some 20 minutes’ drive out of Cardiff city centre. It is situated at the top of the Tumble, above Culverhouse Cross. Standing at the site of my mum’s grave, I was able to take in the views across Cardiff and the Caerphilly mountains, and although I couldn’t see them on the day, towards St Fagans and the fairytale Castell Coch – places both my mum and dad were fond of.  

There are no headstones. Each burial plot is marked against a fixed point. The meadows will continue to be farmed, and more tree planting is planned. My parents bought adjacent plots, which I thought was very romantic. They had been married for 71 years, and being apart these last couple of years had hit my dad hard. The laying to rest of my mum was tranquil and respectful, punctuated only by the sound of birdsong. The service was attended by many of her seven children, 19 grandchildren, 22 great-grandchildren and others from her close family.

Interestingly, my parents chose the Natural Burial ground mainly because it’s in a beautiful setting, but partly because it was very difficult to get a burial spot in Cardiff itself. Mum’s coffin was made of woven bamboo, and the whole approach to providing such a wonderful place to lay someone to rest reflected a commitment to a sustainable and environmentally-friendly future. It was truly an approach that respected those that had passed, whilst helping to protect the world for those still living and others yet to be born.

After the burial, we returned to Cardiff for a memorial service for my mum. My parents had both been long-term members of the Cardiff City Church. It is an evangelical Baptist church and was their spiritual home. The preacher who officiated was definitely a graduate from the Billy Graham school of preaching (Billy Graham died in 2018, aged 99 years old, but his six ‘beliefs’ absolutely resonate in today’s turbulent world).  

The preacher’s enthusiasm aside, mum’s memorial service both mourned her passing, but as importantly, celebrated her life, and was an opportunity to say thank you for all the joy and happiness she had brought to the world. My dad spoke passionately about his ‘Hil’ (mum’s name was Hildagarde), one of my brothers and one of her great-grandchildren read from the Bible and one of my sisters recited a poem. I shared some memories. They spanned a lifetime that saw mum washing our hair once a week over the Belfast sink in the kitchen, to her embracing new technology and Facetiming us all on a regular basis. She was a mum to her own children and over her lifetime, a mother to many more children and young people.

It was a good day. The Monday dawned bright and dry. There was no rain, and the Paramo to Jane’s relief stayed in the boot of my car. On Tuesday, the route planner app lied once again. The journey home took another six hours. The remainder of the week passed in an emotionally fatiguing blur. I say a big thank you to my colleagues who stepped up to the plate in my absence. The past week once again reminded me that we are here just one time. That being the case let’s all try and make the most of each and every day. Rest in peace mum.