Non-fiction

After mum passed away, my brother and I had a small disagreement. Mum had always said "I'll leave this bungalow only when they carry me out in a wooden box!" I thought, then, that it was only right that she should spend her final night before the funeral there. He disagreed, and said it was better that she should stay in the Chapel of Rest, which was just along the road. He said "She's gone now. It's no longer her home." He thought it was morbid. Finally, though, he relented - after I'd persuaded him that it was a tradition in so many cultures. Also, I said, people could call and pay their last respects if they so wished. So, the night before, the coffin was brought into her lounge, and I returned to be there with it. With her. (Image: mine)

Wednesday 14 November 2018. Two days before mum's funeral. We think we've got it all sewn up, but we keep thinking of things... When are they...

The Bells of Hell go ting-a-ling-a-ling, For you but not for me. And the little devils how they sing-a-ling-a-ling, For you but not for me. Oh death where is thy sting-a-ling-a-ling, Oh grave thy victory? The Bells of Hell go ting-a-ling-a-ling, For you but not for me.

Memories of Troy and Ancient Greece, World War 1, and speculations about nearby Albania, from Corfu. A Beautiful Palace on top of a mountain overlooking Corfu Town.