Storyteller's World

Well, more than that, really: potentially a bit of a disaster; though fortunately it didn't come to that. It was a morning when I was supposed to be conducting the interment of four sets of ashes in our Garden of Rest. The first one took place, no problem. The rest were all members of one family. The man died about three years ago, and his widow had kept his ashes and never quite got round to arranging what to do with them, before herself becoming too frail to do anything, since when her son kept them in the wardrobe. About six weeks ago the widow and her son both died within days of each other, leaving a daughter, the sole surviving member of the family, to deal with all the funeral arrangements and estate.

I had carefully marked the places where holes were to be dug, then got involved in something in the study (drinking coffee, perhaps) so that when I noticed the time and went along to the church it was 5 minutes to the hour appointed for the interment. Sister and her husband both there. But no holes, and no funeral directors. Thanks to mobile phone technology, and my memory of a number, we were able to phone the office to find out what was going on. Two men and later a woman arrived, rather breathless and newly changed, to dig two holes and, only half an hour late, proceed with the service and interment.

Embarrassment and apologies all round, which is never quite so painful when you are sitting on the patient, tolerant, 'these things happen' side of the exchange. Except that my own mobile phone then went off in the middle of the committal - I had forgotten to switch it off after the possibility of having to use it. Aargh!