Yesterday I went to support a friend whose mother died on New Years Day. We went to the cemetery where the undertaker was waiting with her ashes in a spot labelled "Jardin de souvenir". After a few minutes reflection in silence, the undertaker took the top off the cardboard urn and slowly sprinled the ashes over a carefully arranged pile of stones. I don't think the whole thing took more than 10 minutes.
What I'd like to know is whether this is normal ? I know there are restrictions about what can happen to the ashes but this seemed very basic and not that respectful.
My French f-i-l died in Jan 2010 in Haute Normandy and he was cremated. My m-i-l now has them in an urn in cemetery wall niche, (in Cannes where she now resides) and behind a marble plaque. Apparently, said she can keep his ashes there forever OR choose to scatter them in the future. Hope this helps, but not sure if all depts/regions work that way. :)
My mother however was Welsh, from Powys, so we quietly scattered her ashes on the River Severn there, after her living in Staffordshire for all of her adult life and was in the WRAF. We've all said she's gone back home ;)
Jane. I’ve just found photos of memorial to sailors on Arctic Convoy in Hoy, Orkney. I also found form to request medal on line thanks.
I have one in Hanover and the other no longer with us, replay gave me two more who are still only early college age.
Heh, ol' Druid here, Celeste :)
My both are far from the land in Barcelona and Paris...
Ah, ye hoor, ye had us there Vicko :)
Or as the Irish have it, the deceased sits up and demands "another round"!
You certainly got me up to the punchline, nearly had tears and then split my sides instead :-D
As an amateur singer/guitarist I was asked by a funeral director to play at a graveside service for a homeless man,here in Brittany.
He had no family or friends, so the service was to be at a pauper's cemetery in the French countryside.
As I was not familiar with the local backwoods, I got lost and, being a typical man, I didn't stop for directions.
I finally arrived an hour late and saw the funeral guy had evidently gone and the hearse was nowhere in sight. There were only the diggers and crew left and they were eating lunch.
I felt badly and apologized to the men for being late. I went to the side of the grave and looked down and the vault lid was already in place. I didn't know what else to do, so I got out my guitar & started to play.
The workers put down their lunches and began to gather around. I played out my heart and soul for this man with no family and friends.
I played like I've never played before for this homeless man.
And as I played 'Amazing Grace,' the workers began to weep. They wept, I wept, we all wept together. When I finished I packed up my trusty guitar and started for my car. Though my head hung low, my heart was full.
As I opened the door to my car, I heard one of the workers say, "I've never seen anything like that before and I've been putting in Septic Tanks for twenty years
Actually, Sunday best on the Hulltoon in Dundee.
Ah, wellies, summer footwear in the closes :)
No, I've never worked it out. My mother made us clean our shoes every day. OK, school days we got it in the neck there for not having them shiny. But days when you didn't even put them on! My father even used to polish his work boots and wash his wellies, have you ever seen builders do that? Old generation Scots did. Duh!
Why are Scots always going on about shoes? Remember the Big Yin one about him being in Dumfries, with the wee shuggy muttering "tuik the shoes off the peepil, tuik the shoes off the peepil", and Billy finding out it was Charlie's troops in 1745 did that !
It gives burning your boats real meaning. Great idea.
Oh yes, give me an Irish wake. A real Finnegan's wake at that. I have (involuntarily) found myself at two Scots ones, sure there is the whisky but the rest of it is as dour as could be: 'Aye, he wis a braw soul but he didnae keep yon shoes clean, sae I hadtae clean theys afore pittin theys afore his coffin. A'waes the skivvy', next women: 'Aye, an ma man, he wisna better. He even deed wi'oot warning. Ye ken he didnae e'er warn aboot a thing', next woman 'Aye an ma man....', and so it went on. No wonder the surviving men stood together in a huddle, keeping quiet. They knew what they had to expect when they could no longer hear it.
So give me the Irish version any day! Well, that specific day in my case.
And here's a real wake song for ye, Celeste :)
The body of an American
The Cadillac stood by the house
And the Yanks they were within
And the tinker boys they hissed advice
'hot-wire her with a pin'
We turned and shook as we had a look
In the room where the dead man lay
So big Jim Dwyer made his last trip
To the home where his father's laid
Fifteen minutes later
We had our first taste of whiskey
There was uncles giving lectures
On ancient Irish history
The men all started telling jokes
And the women they got frisky
By five o'clock in the evening
Every bastard there was pissed
Fare thee well going away
There's nothing left to say
Farewell to New York city boys
To Boston and PA
He took them out
With a well-aimed clout
He was often heard to say
I'm a free born man of the USA
He fought the champ in Pittsburgh
And he slashed him to the ground
He took on Tiny Tartanella
And it only went one round
He never had no time for reds
For drink or dice or whores
And he never threw a fight
Unless the fight was right
So they sent him to the war
Fare thee well gone away
There's nothing left to say
With a slainte Joe and erin go
My love's in Amerikay
The calling of the rosary
Spanish wind from far away
I'm a free born man of the USA
This morning on the harbour
When I said goodbye to you
I remember how I swore
That I'd come back to you one day
And as the sunset came to meet
The evening on the hill
I told you I'd always love you
I always did and I always will
Fare thee well gone away
There's nothing left to say
'cept to say adieu
To your eyes as blue
As the water in the bay
And to big Jim Dwyer
The man of wire
Who was often heard to say
I'm a free born man of the USA
Don't mean to be irreverent Celeste but do you mean room for 8 in pots or 8 in boxes ? :<). Like the idea of a Viking funeral but not too soon I hope !
I am down to be scattered in the local river where I scattered my late wife in accordance with her wishes (probably now illegal but I'll take the risk). My mother was scattered on a golf course too. My aunt was used as fertiliser on a specially bought "Peace" rose in her old garden, whilst I scattered another aunt on the beach at Dunkirk from whence she was evacuated in 1940.Maybe the Parsees have the best idea? My Italian friends use the catacombs in Rome which sounds rather nice. I don't like the anonymity of the average "Garden of Rest" which seem to be designed by the worst sort of "Municipal Gardeners".
I will ask Jim for the info.
Jane. I'd be interested to know how you applied for & got the star so I can pass on the info. to My Wife & her bro.
