Funeral Experience ©
By
Michael Casey
My daughter was asking about Funerals a few minutes ago, as she is off to a Funeral tomorrow morning, an old man from her church is being buried. She and her sister are singing for the dead man. As I’ve told you on other occasions my mother as the “professional” mourner when an unclaimed body was buried. After 6 months the State buries the body, so without any family to come to the Graveside my mother would be roped in. So just the Undertaker and the Priest and my mother said Farewell to a deceased. At her own funeral my mother had 5 priests on the Altar plus a very packed church, such is life, such is death.
That was back in 1996, now I have my own family, which is what I wanted with all my heart and soul. The Funeral Mass is the best, the readings are so good. Lazarus was dead, but Jesus wept and loved him so much he rose him from the dead, even though he must smell was what the family told him. I served 30 Funeral Masses as an altar boy maybe 50 years ago. In those days everything was Black. Even the candles, or were they a kind of deep orange, next time I’m at another funeral I’ll check out the candles.
Derek MC and me use to enjoy being the Thu-rifer, all the smell and shaking about. But best of all after the funeral we’d take the circle of charcoal out and drop it down the drain in the church garden, then watch it hiss and go around in circles. Yes great entertainment. On one occasion too a woman came up to me in the playground days afterwards and gave me a few coins as thank you for being the server. A Wedding you could expect something, but a funeral, that was an unexpected joy, pennies for a funeral, and no it was not just 2 pennies.
Attitudes to funerals are different amongst people, certainly my mother taught us that the dead were just going home. I had one of our lodgers died on me of a heart attack back in 1979. The Catholic Club took up a collection and paid for his funeral. When another lodger died, nobody came, so we had a funeral and then sent his body home to Ireland. Another lodger was very intelligent, but stupid enough to go out in the freezing weather with 2 walking sticks on sheet ice. He came home in a motorbike sidecar, a neighbour bringing him home to us. He died in his room, it turned out that his brother was a Doctor. He came to claim him.
The lodger that brings a smile to my lips was the one that smoked and drunk and gambled, and survived falling over drunk on a gas ring. Dad took him to hospital, it was Xmas and he was drunk, and screaming in pain. A 300pound taxi driver neighbour, called Mr Morgan drove dad to the hospital with our scorched lodger. Mr Morgan did offer dad a ride home, but as Mr Morgan was tipsy too dad decided to walk home from the hospital. That was maybe 50 years ago, the burnt lodger carried on living and drinking and smoking for decades afterwards. He even managed to chop a digit off his hand in and industrial accident, so he was a bit like Dave Allen. He pissed every penny of his compensation up the wall. Finally he was sick in hospital my dad and sister visited him, he said it was his Birthday the next day. So my sister got a birthday card, he was 83. He died the very next day.
This has been my life and I’ve seen a few deaths, directly and indirectly. I suppose it’s background that eventually turned me into a writer. Just as Shakespeare had lots of background that turned him into a writer. Only idiots don’t accept that Shakespeare was the man for everything, for all seasons too.
Death and funerals are not nice things in themselves, but the Love left behind is a testament of a life well spent. I try and be as good a dad as my own dad was to me, and all of us Caseys. Obviously I’m a shallow imitation, but Big Sid’s Love was my dad, only I did not realise it till after I finished writing The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker. It’s in the breed is what my dad used to say, and he was write, what was poured into me from him and my mother makes me what I am, which is an Altruist firstly and everything else after that.
So when it’s my time to be buried, I don’t expect there to be 5 priests on the altar, and 500 people in the church, as was my mother’ funeral. A few rousing hymns would be nice. Or would my sister and my daughters be too sad to sing? I hope if anybody can afford to give a spread in the local pub afterwards that the food is nice, and a few pints of Stella Artois are available. It could be so nice that I’d escape the coffin to enjoy one final last pint myself.
Now that would be a Funeral to Remember.
***********
I wrote this in nov 1987 on a bus to work on a sunday
The Dead and The Living ©
by
Michael Casey
I first saw a deceased when I was nine years old ,my father said not
to worry as the dead are the same as the living , only the laughter
has left them , the sparkle has gone from their eyes , the worry has
been lifted from their shoulders , and their voice has vanished to
eternity .
In paradise the sparkle will return for it is the twinkle of the
stars , the laughter will return too for it is the morning breeze and
the turning tides are their sides shaking with laughter .
I treat the deceased with the same courtesy as I give to the living ,
though I find the deceased are always more polite . My father also
had a few words to say about the living .
He said that the living are only the caretakers of the soul , yet
they think their existence is everything , that they know everything
because they experience many things with their senses .
What the living don’t acknowledge is that their time is short and
when I lay their bodies to rest then their souls continue without
them , without their strong , without their weak , without their
beautiful or even ugly temporary form , to where I cannot say , only
that it is a better place .
Percy the undertaker placed the lid on the coffin ,the soul was free
THE BEGINNING
**********
I wanted Percy the Undertaker in The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker
to be a poet, and the rest is History…
By
Michael Casey
My daughter was asking about Funerals a few minutes ago, as she is off to a Funeral tomorrow morning, an old man from her church is being buried. She and her sister are singing for the dead man. As I’ve told you on other occasions my mother as the “professional” mourner when an unclaimed body was buried. After 6 months the State buries the body, so without any family to come to the Graveside my mother would be roped in. So just the Undertaker and the Priest and my mother said Farewell to a deceased. At her own funeral my mother had 5 priests on the Altar plus a very packed church, such is life, such is death.
That was back in 1996, now I have my own family, which is what I wanted with all my heart and soul. The Funeral Mass is the best, the readings are so good. Lazarus was dead, but Jesus wept and loved him so much he rose him from the dead, even though he must smell was what the family told him. I served 30 Funeral Masses as an altar boy maybe 50 years ago. In those days everything was Black. Even the candles, or were they a kind of deep orange, next time I’m at another funeral I’ll check out the candles.
Derek MC and me use to enjoy being the Thu-rifer, all the smell and shaking about. But best of all after the funeral we’d take the circle of charcoal out and drop it down the drain in the church garden, then watch it hiss and go around in circles. Yes great entertainment. On one occasion too a woman came up to me in the playground days afterwards and gave me a few coins as thank you for being the server. A Wedding you could expect something, but a funeral, that was an unexpected joy, pennies for a funeral, and no it was not just 2 pennies.
Attitudes to funerals are different amongst people, certainly my mother taught us that the dead were just going home. I had one of our lodgers died on me of a heart attack back in 1979. The Catholic Club took up a collection and paid for his funeral. When another lodger died, nobody came, so we had a funeral and then sent his body home to Ireland. Another lodger was very intelligent, but stupid enough to go out in the freezing weather with 2 walking sticks on sheet ice. He came home in a motorbike sidecar, a neighbour bringing him home to us. He died in his room, it turned out that his brother was a Doctor. He came to claim him.
The lodger that brings a smile to my lips was the one that smoked and drunk and gambled, and survived falling over drunk on a gas ring. Dad took him to hospital, it was Xmas and he was drunk, and screaming in pain. A 300pound taxi driver neighbour, called Mr Morgan drove dad to the hospital with our scorched lodger. Mr Morgan did offer dad a ride home, but as Mr Morgan was tipsy too dad decided to walk home from the hospital. That was maybe 50 years ago, the burnt lodger carried on living and drinking and smoking for decades afterwards. He even managed to chop a digit off his hand in and industrial accident, so he was a bit like Dave Allen. He pissed every penny of his compensation up the wall. Finally he was sick in hospital my dad and sister visited him, he said it was his Birthday the next day. So my sister got a birthday card, he was 83. He died the very next day.
This has been my life and I’ve seen a few deaths, directly and indirectly. I suppose it’s background that eventually turned me into a writer. Just as Shakespeare had lots of background that turned him into a writer. Only idiots don’t accept that Shakespeare was the man for everything, for all seasons too.
Death and funerals are not nice things in themselves, but the Love left behind is a testament of a life well spent. I try and be as good a dad as my own dad was to me, and all of us Caseys. Obviously I’m a shallow imitation, but Big Sid’s Love was my dad, only I did not realise it till after I finished writing The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker. It’s in the breed is what my dad used to say, and he was write, what was poured into me from him and my mother makes me what I am, which is an Altruist firstly and everything else after that.
So when it’s my time to be buried, I don’t expect there to be 5 priests on the altar, and 500 people in the church, as was my mother’ funeral. A few rousing hymns would be nice. Or would my sister and my daughters be too sad to sing? I hope if anybody can afford to give a spread in the local pub afterwards that the food is nice, and a few pints of Stella Artois are available. It could be so nice that I’d escape the coffin to enjoy one final last pint myself.
Now that would be a Funeral to Remember.
***********
I wrote this in nov 1987 on a bus to work on a sunday
The Dead and The Living ©
by
Michael Casey
I first saw a deceased when I was nine years old ,my father said not
to worry as the dead are the same as the living , only the laughter
has left them , the sparkle has gone from their eyes , the worry has
been lifted from their shoulders , and their voice has vanished to
eternity .
In paradise the sparkle will return for it is the twinkle of the
stars , the laughter will return too for it is the morning breeze and
the turning tides are their sides shaking with laughter .
I treat the deceased with the same courtesy as I give to the living ,
though I find the deceased are always more polite . My father also
had a few words to say about the living .
He said that the living are only the caretakers of the soul , yet
they think their existence is everything , that they know everything
because they experience many things with their senses .
What the living don’t acknowledge is that their time is short and
when I lay their bodies to rest then their souls continue without
them , without their strong , without their weak , without their
beautiful or even ugly temporary form , to where I cannot say , only
that it is a better place .
Percy the undertaker placed the lid on the coffin ,the soul was free
THE BEGINNING
**********
I wanted Percy the Undertaker in The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker
to be a poet, and the rest is History…
Published
