Grave Humour

In my working life as a funeral director, I have encountered some of
the most disturbing events in my life. But I have also experienced
truly hilarious moments in the funeral profession, moments which I
cherish.

There was, for example, the occasion when we had to do the funeral of a
particularly unpleasant suicide - the chap had walked into the prop of
a light aircraft, ending up as slosh in a body bag. He left a note
requesting that as his coffin was carried into the crematorium, we
should play a recording of Frank Sinatra singing "I did it my
way...".

Then there was the time we arrived at the local Catholic church, hearse
and limousine, following cars, etc., to discover the church locked, the
lights out, and no one about. Luckily the priest lived just round the
corner. Unluckily, his name was Father Ted (honest). I rang the
doorbell, and after an interminable time the priest appeared. "Ah
hello, Peter. And what can I do for you?" "We've got a funeral with
you, Father". "Have ye? Let me just take a little peek at the diary. Ah
so we have. So we have...and what's the poor man's name now, who's
died?" "His name's Ethel", I replied...

I remember the family who requested a particular CD be played as the
curtains closed at the local crematorium. The moment duly arrived. The
family had handed the CD over to the crematorium official, and had
marked the track they wanted themselves. Or so they thought.

Now since the chap who died had met his wife during a War-time romance,
the family had expected Vera Lynn singing "We'll meet again...".
Instead, they got a surreal rendition of "Wish me luck as you wave me
goodbye..."!

Then again there are those moments which stay with you for years: jump
starting the hearse using the jump leads of the dead bloke who was in
the box in the back of the hearse at the time; the greatly deaf and
truculent 90 year old widow who had to have all the instructions
shouted to her at the funeral; the old widower who farted incredibly
loudly for each of the 10 steps he took up to the graveside to throw
soil into the grave. (Oh yes: he farted also as he threw the soil in,
too); the time I directed the entire funeral cortege, including at
least 20 following mourners' cars into a Safeways carpark, thinking it
was the entrance to a cemetery; the time my funeral staff knocked the
vicar on the back of his head with a coffin because they couldn't stop
in a procession as quickly as he could.....

There is something to be said about being a rural funeral director.
Life is bizarrely surreal. Death is not "nothing at all." It affects
with an absolute profundity. But it is also wonderfully funny.