I was happy to oblige when Jayne asked me to contribute a piece for Farewells. As someone who has worked as, and with those, helping the bereaved for the past 22 years, I’ve managed and advised those cemetery managers keen to create and help sustain the Victorian ideal of ‘quiet places of reflection’; a focus for grief; places where people came to terms with loss; where they do the right thing by their departed and can walk away a few steps; at peace.
Living with your own mortality
In the few short weeks since Jayne and I first spoke, I’ve been told I will probably soon be subject rather than commentator. Smoking whatever I could get my hands on, on an industrial scale for four plus decades has confirmed the research; I’ve become the warning picture on the drab packaging. Even this year my allotment produced its first crop of deliciously smokable tobacco. I love it. I’m also appreciative of the irony. I’m from the Black Country, I’ve a black sense of humour.
I’m not scared of being dead. I assume it’s akin to not having been born yet. I hope the process is painless and short; that’s the potentially scary part.
I regret that the narratives in which I’m involved will never reach a knowable conclusion. How far will Slavan Bidic take the Baggies? How will Peaky Blinders end? Will Jeremy Corbyn’s government be given the chance to establish long lasting social change to match such achievements as the NHS? Will the UK move its capital further north? Will the people of planet Earth decide to save themselves from oblivion? Will my kids be ok? Will love conquer all?
I do need to ask myself what I want to happen to my dead body. I know the ‘disposal’ business inside out, it’s been my life for twenty years. I’ve been a big advocate of natural burial, but I know good soil from bad – I’ve seen a lot of wet soil in Devon recently and I don’t like to be wet.
I’m averse to cremation’s seemingly industrial process, although realise given English burial practices we’d be in deep trouble if 70-80% of the population wasn’t cremated. I’m told each cremation produces huge amounts of NOX, the equivalent of several thousand cars driving past the gates for the duration. Whilst I’m seldom warm enough, I think I have to avoid that end.
Both of my grand-in-laws died in Georgia, USA in the 1990’s. They have their heavily embalmed bodies held in metal, wood and velvet caskets; two metres above the ground in an air conditioned building. They are stored until someone no longer makes a profit. At this point you should Google Arnos Vale or Highgate.
Most of the time, we’re just storing the dead.
One of my issues with the Natural Burial phenomena is that, along with all the alternatives, it fails to consider the entire event; the impact of thirty cars driving 40 miles out of town to be at the funeral for instance – not to mention subsequent visits. Another concern is that in the UK, all steps are taken to encourage the body to return to nature as soon as possible; clothing of natural fibres, no embalming or burial in biodegradable coffins. If the aim of the site is to create a wildlife environment, they’re not planning to reuse your grave. So why worry about how fast you recycle?
In Germany, there are cemeteries with engineered soil, within decades graves are reused with no remains disturbed, they’ve moved on. Local authorities can sell off land they no longer need whilst here we’re creating new cemeteries and retaining the responsibility for maintaining Victorian cemeteries in perpetuity.
We had such a perfect system until the industrial revolution; a well-practiced and evolved method. A time when all burials were around the parish church; they rotated around the east, south and west sides of the church. When they were full, they started again. If they found any bones, they either placed them in the cellar (ossuary) or just buried them a bit deeper. Over the centuries the soil became rich and also expanded. Old churchyards usually have high walls and paths sunk into the ground. Active soil returned the elements of the body to the environment more quickly; the churchyard became good at its job. Also, the family visited every Sunday and on holidays, often bringing you flowers and remembering you. Every cemetery manager will know the daily visitors who are obviously not coping with the bereavement; back then they were in the social worker’s garden.
We have a relatively stable population now, or at least one we can predict. We should be smart enough to work out what to do with our departed. This the cemetery manger speaking. I know hundreds of cemetery managers, no exaggeration. With the occasional exception, they are the most caring group of people I’ve ever met. They face legal constraints, but I always encourage them to know what they are doing and why they are doing it. They should be able to explain that in a clear and convincing way.
Back to the point. Where will I be? I want a natural burial. I want my elements to return to the environment quickly, I want no barriers. I am stardust, I am golden. I’m that generation.
This article was never intended to be about me, so reflect dear reader. Life is a terminal experience. Of the many glib things I’ve said in my life, ‘You’re a long time dead’ has probably been my ‘go to’ excuse and ‘There’s only one person you can be sure will be there with you on your deathbed, and that’s you’ was the insurance policy. But when the end is in sight, how do you tell your family what to do with your remains? I hope I am able to find the words so that my family are comforted by being able to say ‘It’s what he would have wanted’.
