Funeralworld tends to be a very quiet, even dull, place — well, in Britain it is. And perhaps we should be grateful for that. If we glance over at our friends in the US we find much more goes on. In the last few days…
A hearse driver died while taking a body to a funeral
In Kentucky, a man has been arrested for stealing a tractor from a funeral home. A tractor??
Posted by Richard Rawlinson
I’m revisiting a post by Charles in January about whether a funeral can ever accommodate the venting of chaotic feelings generated by death. If so, what behaviour can be ‘officially’ appropriated: formalised wailing, hurling plates against a wall, a punch bag in the vestibule, or even a bout of fisticuffs between mourners? (I hope Lyra Mollington can one day give us an eye-witness account, from a safe distance).
Regulars Rupert Callender and Jenny Uzzell contribute differing takes on this splendid debate. Ru recalls witnessing a woman shout down angrily at her sister in her grave, describing it as a transformative moment. He concludes it would be healthy to find a way to integrate violent emotions into our rituals.
Jenny, while agreeing unrepressed emotion is cathartic, questions whether it could ever be built into ritual in our decorous culture, saying outbursts need to be spontaneous, and ‘bottom up rather than top down’.
It’s nigh on impossible to create a ceremony that accommodates the uncontrollable, but we should show compassionate tolerance of venting individuals, whether they interrupt a service, or start a drunken scrap at the wake.
I don’t have personal experience of fighting but my best friend at school was a first-rate pugilist. His duels were organised affairs. Insults would be passed in the cloisters between lessons, and a time would then be agreed for he and his adversary to meet behind the pavilion, where a noisy crowd would gather for the ensuing thrill of black eyes and bloody noses. I held my friend’s jacket and cheered him on, praying he wouldn’t break a tooth.
I also recall leaving Westminster Cathedral after mass to be confronted by a large crowd of Muslims chanting that we must die. It was a legal, ‘free speech’ demo, kettled by our boys in blue, and triggered by Pope Benedict XVI’s 2006 Regensburg speech in which he freely quoted a 13th century Byzantine Christian emperor in conversation with a Persian guest: the erudite Christian emperor politely argued with his educated Muslim friend that spreading the faith through violence was unreasonable, and therefore displeasing to God. The academic Holy Father’s allusion to this historical record was deemed apostasy by 21st century fundamentalists.
A brawl in the Cathedral piazza that morning might have been a craic, but only if weapons were banned, partakers were consenting and we all shook hands afterwards. But the peace-protecting police refused to take such a risk, rightly distrusting human nature to know where to draw the line.
One acceptable invitation to anarchic behaviour at civil funerals is rock music: aggressive dancing in the aisle with The Clash’s White Riot on the sound system, perhaps? In my last blog, I compared Terry Jacks’ drippy Seasons in the Sun, with a greatly energised cover version by Me First and the Gimme Gimmes. Hearing it reminded me of sweaty air guitar sessions in my study at school (as well as the fights): The Ramones’ Teenage Lobotomy, anyone?
However, totally letting go through dance beyond the age of overactive hormones can be embarrassing. I’ll be sticking with Abide With Me and Ave Maria.