Not quite the traditional Welsh funeral
Sep. 17th, 2012 12:28 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
janewilliams20Not that I know what a traditional Welsh funeral would be like, not really. But that wasn't it.
I won't go into full details - there are others who knew her far better than I did, and will have got different things from what happened. Karen, the wife of one of Dave's Angelsey cousins, died of breast cancer - well, of various other cancers that followed on. She was a hairdresser: she and her husband were the only hairdressers in the little village where they lived. No special privilege, or education, or amazing talents beyond the norm. Just normal people. Except....
Someone asked me why I'd gone six hours drive each way for the funeral of a remote barely-relative who I'd met perhaps half a dozen times at most. I said "Because it was Karen," and we both understood exactly what I meant. That village has a population of 1,185 according to Wikipedia. I'm not sure how many people turned up to the funeral - perhaps 600? but they were all there because they knew her, personally, she'd touched their lives in some way. And, being Karen, that meant she'd done something to help them, and she'd probably made them laugh.
The coffin was taken from the house at the top of the village (after a short service there) down to the church on a hand-pulled trolley - a lovely antique, the sort of thing I've seen standing in churches to hold leaflets but never seen in use before. Other members of the family up there, who are funeral driectors but had been forbidden to run this one, had had no idea where to find one of those, but Karen did. Family and friends joined in behind, walking down in silence to join the main crowd outside the church. This may not have been the "main" crowd on the move, but the police had still closed the road, it was that big.
They didn't use the little chapel for the main service, they used the big church. They had to. There wasn't anything like enough room for everyone in there, so they ran speakers out to the churchyard. And to the village square, because the churchyard wasn't big enough, either.
Most of the service was in Welsh, so I have very little idea what was being said, but the longest part was the story of her life, and the Welsh-speaking part of the audience was laughing at some of the anecdotes. Laughter, at a funeral? Must have had Karen involved. Some other speakers, afterwards, because she'd asked them to come along and speak about the charity she'd founded to help other people with breast cancer, and they hadn't wanted to do any public speaking, but she'd given them That Look, and they'd known they'd end up doing it anyway.
Afterwards, you know how the priest throws ashes on the coffin, and a few other relatives will do the same? Maybe someone will throw flowers? Everyone else will shuffle away looking embarrassed? Karen had left orders on the subject - no "mud"! What we threw was party sparkle. Yes, "we" - everyone present wanted to do that. A lot of the bright pink latex wristbands showing support for her charity went in, too.
Yes, there was food and drink, afterwards. But it took three pubs, not just one, to cater for everyone.One of the songs - the only traditional one had been "Calon Lan" - had been about wanting to leave a mark, to be remembered. Oh, yes. We'll remember Karen. That little JustGiving page she started, along with some of her bingo-playing friends, is a full charitable trust, now. So, if a hairdresser from a tiny village can do all that, what are the rest of us doing?
Edit: yes, this really was taken seriously - and just how many thigns was she involved in???
They cancelled a football match.
I won't go into full details - there are others who knew her far better than I did, and will have got different things from what happened. Karen, the wife of one of Dave's Angelsey cousins, died of breast cancer - well, of various other cancers that followed on. She was a hairdresser: she and her husband were the only hairdressers in the little village where they lived. No special privilege, or education, or amazing talents beyond the norm. Just normal people. Except....
Someone asked me why I'd gone six hours drive each way for the funeral of a remote barely-relative who I'd met perhaps half a dozen times at most. I said "Because it was Karen," and we both understood exactly what I meant. That village has a population of 1,185 according to Wikipedia. I'm not sure how many people turned up to the funeral - perhaps 600? but they were all there because they knew her, personally, she'd touched their lives in some way. And, being Karen, that meant she'd done something to help them, and she'd probably made them laugh.
The coffin was taken from the house at the top of the village (after a short service there) down to the church on a hand-pulled trolley - a lovely antique, the sort of thing I've seen standing in churches to hold leaflets but never seen in use before. Other members of the family up there, who are funeral driectors but had been forbidden to run this one, had had no idea where to find one of those, but Karen did. Family and friends joined in behind, walking down in silence to join the main crowd outside the church. This may not have been the "main" crowd on the move, but the police had still closed the road, it was that big.
They didn't use the little chapel for the main service, they used the big church. They had to. There wasn't anything like enough room for everyone in there, so they ran speakers out to the churchyard. And to the village square, because the churchyard wasn't big enough, either.
Most of the service was in Welsh, so I have very little idea what was being said, but the longest part was the story of her life, and the Welsh-speaking part of the audience was laughing at some of the anecdotes. Laughter, at a funeral? Must have had Karen involved. Some other speakers, afterwards, because she'd asked them to come along and speak about the charity she'd founded to help other people with breast cancer, and they hadn't wanted to do any public speaking, but she'd given them That Look, and they'd known they'd end up doing it anyway.
Afterwards, you know how the priest throws ashes on the coffin, and a few other relatives will do the same? Maybe someone will throw flowers? Everyone else will shuffle away looking embarrassed? Karen had left orders on the subject - no "mud"! What we threw was party sparkle. Yes, "we" - everyone present wanted to do that. A lot of the bright pink latex wristbands showing support for her charity went in, too.
Yes, there was food and drink, afterwards. But it took three pubs, not just one, to cater for everyone.One of the songs - the only traditional one had been "Calon Lan" - had been about wanting to leave a mark, to be remembered. Oh, yes. We'll remember Karen. That little JustGiving page she started, along with some of her bingo-playing friends, is a full charitable trust, now. So, if a hairdresser from a tiny village can do all that, what are the rest of us doing?
Edit: yes, this really was taken seriously - and just how many thigns was she involved in???
They cancelled a football match.