1797. Funeral demands

(Please note that this story and subsequent stories for the next number of weeks were composed and scheduled before Covid-19 reared its ugly head. So my apologies if aspects offend certain sensibilities. Thanks)

Neralie was adamant; when she died she was not to be buried but cremated. Sure, waking up in a coffin in the middle of a cremation would be a horrifying experience, but to wake up in the coffin and be in a hole six feet down and covered in dirt… oh the panic! The fear! The claustrophobia! Cremation did it quickly and once and for all; if you hadn’t died but had simply entered into some temporal comatose state, then cremation was the way to.

Not to be buried was simply one of the many stipulations Neralie made about the post-demise behaviour of her relatives and friends. Everyone was welcome to bring flowers, but nothing purchased. Only cut flowers from the garden. And they had to be either deep red or pure white or a mixture of both. Red would stand for the suffering she had experienced throughout her life; white would stand for light and relief and the promise of an eternal future freed from all her suffering. Oh! All the suffering! “You’ve no idea how I’ve suffered” was one of Neralie’s catch phrases.

Then there was the music to be played at her funeral. None of this namby-pamby pop stuff – she demanded the Kyrie from Mozart’s Requiem. And if some people found it too long, then bully for them. They should show some respect.

The six pallbearers should dress as befits a funeral. None of this open-neck shirt stuff; no coloured garments; black with a bit of white – perhaps a white shirt. Well ironed.

Neralie’s list of demands went on and on. It was gigantic – like she didn’t have anything better to do in the last five years of her life. And sing! Sing the chosen hymn full throttle. None of this singing into ones beard like a wimp.

And then she died.

No one came to the funeral of the lonely imperious decrepit martinet. They stayed away in droves.

The undertaker had Neralie buried.

29 thoughts on “1797. Funeral demands

  1. Nitin Lalit

    I think Neralie should have stopped talking and started writing. She’d have given Emily Dickinson a run for her money. A puritanical eccentric with a funeral obsession would have made a great artist.

    Liked by 1 person

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              1. Nitin Lalit

                I’m having that same problem too Bruce. I think WP is experimenting with something. But still, I’ll need to check my settings. Do not panic. And might I say something cliched like we’re all in the same boat?

                Liked by 1 person

                Reply
                  1. Nitin Lalit

                    I’m unable to see whether people have replied to my comments on my blogs. I have to individually check and find out. But I think it’s resolved now.

                    P.S. I hope it’s not the Titanic. I don’t want to picture you standing behind a teary-eyed Binky at the prow while a Celine Dion song plays in the background! Okay I jest too much!!

                    Liked by 1 person

                    Reply
                    1. Bruce Goodman Post author

                      The little bell icon that changes colour lets me know that there’s a lurking like, but comment notifications seem to have jumped out the window. I spend half my blog time going up and down comments on various postings to see if there’s any new comments.I’m tempted to say a naughty word – anything to drown out Celine.

                      Liked by 1 person

    1. Bruce Goodman Post author

      One of my sisters was on a cruise ship when all this stuff happened. She just got home this Monday – having been shoved from one holding station to another. Actually she was stuck on the boat going nowhere for three weeks. No one on her boat was ill. Regarding the personage in this story – she did indeed die a tragic death. In the end I had to send her to Holland to be put down legally.

      Liked by 2 people

      Reply
    1. Bruce Goodman Post author

      Hi Uma. Thanks for the comment. WP’s warning bell icon no longer informs me of a comment – so I’m not able to tell when a new comment arrives. I have to recheck every blog (including my own) to manually/visually check for comments. It’s driving me batty (batty not in the sense of the Wuhan virus but in the old-fashioned sense of “batty”)

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