Entry posted by Charlie
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I didn't know her much at all really. She had died somewhere far away and she was related by marriage to one of my sisters. So, to support my sister, I volunteered to go to the funeral without hesitation.
Funerals are fascinating cultural events. All cultures treat death with reverence. Ours no less than any other culture.
I arrived at the Church in the small country town. Found the Church, I had presumed there would be two, but it did not matter as I found the correct one straight off. The hearse was parked in the driveway, well attired people were standing about chatting.
I approached the Church, and recognised a few faces. Found my sister, and we greeted and embraced clumsily. "you didn't have to come" my sister said. "I came to support you, I've heard that Eileen (the deceased) and Reg didn't treat you all that well". She said nothing, and looked around being the good wife of the son of the deceased.
I began to notice some of the other guests and the surroundings around the small Church building. You could see that despite the faded notice that services were held the third Sunday each month, that some one or a group of keen parishners kept the building and grounds in very good and neat condition.
I headed inside and signed the attendance book and was handed a folded A4 piece of paper that in a few lines described a woman/ wife/mother/ grandmother's life with few amateur photographs and the order of service laid out as well. I sat in a pew towards the back of the Church, and rested out of the chill wind that gently cooled the outside. The Church was very comforting to me. I had seen many Church buildings such as this in my life. Small country Churches can reflect the local community with stained glass windows donated by well known local families. The flower displays looked great, odd though, there were apples where the flowers should have been!
Eventually, more and more people entered and sat around in the rows of pews. Clearly, most of the men were mature, looking like farmers with their "good" clothes on. Ruddy features, weather beaten faces and hands were to be seen on the men. The women looked universally worn out. Like many farming communities, the women can have a harder time making ends meet than the men.
The minister called for attention and told us that the husband of the deceased would enter shortly, and wanted to say a few words before the service proper. He also invited us all to the "wake" after the burial in the cemetary, in the CWA Hall next door. The husband was wheeled in his wheelchair. An old man, in his 80's, with a shock of snowy white hair, clearly in great distress. Eventually, the wheelchair was turned around and Reg addressed us all.
Reg spoke with great difficulty, he thanked everyone for coming. And reminded the congregation that Eileen had struggled out of bed the very morning she died to feed her poddy lambs. Tears streamed down his face. Many of the congregation also were emotionally affected by this.
The minister started the service with simple dignity. He spoke lovingly of Eileen, and recalled a few reflections of mutual meetings he'd had with her over the past several years. Some of Eileen's children spoke about their mum. A grandson read from the bible. We listened to a CD of Willy Nelson singing "Danny Boy".
The service finished. The minister led the small procession out of the Church. The mourning husband, the casket, family members and all the congregation slowly filed out. The almost silent procession was very reverent. Outside the Church, the casket had been carefully placed inside the hearse. Without much ado, the hearse started off and waited in the middle of the deserted country town street. We all dispersed to our vehicles and followed in unspoken order.
The hearse led the procession of cars through the town and out to the cemetary. The slow procession was quite lengthy and to my amazement, trucks and cars gave way without any apparent signal at all. It was very touching. After several minutes the cavalcade slowly drove into the cemetary and the hearse pulled up near the prepared grave site as we parked our cars a respectful distance away. By the time we had all arrived at the grave, the casket was sitting on chromed poles, plastic grass matting covered the recently dug earth. The mourning husband sitting in his wheelchair was at one end starring at the casket.
The anguish of a father burying his wife is profound.
The minister said a few words, and the casket was lowered into the ground. Reg cried in vain for his grief at seeing his wife being buried into the ground was too much for him. The onlookers were invited by the minister to drop a flower into the grave. Eventually, one of the men, gently picked up a shovel and began to fill in the grave. Another man came forward as the first tired and continued to fill the grave site. Another man took over, and so on. Quickly the grave was filled. I was surprised. I had never seen this before. My sister said to me that "These were mountain men" and attended to other guests.
On my way home, I thought a lot about these country people. They were reflecting their society, which may have been left behind by city folk. But I realised that these country people had great affection for each other and helped each other in tough times. It made me feel good to know that such people are proud Australians, and I was very proud of them.
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