Wednesday, 28th December 2011
Day of my dad's funeral and I was up at about 7am. Steve and I had given the house a thorough clean the night before and there was little we needed to do until just before the hearse arrived. I took the dog for a walk and noticed that despite the beautiful blue skies, the wing was bitingly cold. Just one circuit of the park and then Freddie aimed for the gates, wise dog.
Mum was ok, quiet and fussing over her trousers that are too long. My Aunty Tess regularly complains to her daughter who works in M&S in Liverpool about the sizes being inaccurate in the store. The reason being that the clothes are made abroad, apparently. A safety pin and all was well. I called John, and he had just arrived at Lime St Station and I said he might be able to get a train to Prescot at about half past, which he did and he refused to get a cab when arriving at Prescot, saying he had already planned his route with his AtoZ. Before he arrived, Liam and Ceira came and then just after John arrived, Nick and Kerrie came. K looked quite respectable and Nick in a suit.
At St Lukes church, the wind was cruel and I took mum right into the entrance. I didn't know all of the people there, but some of the faces I knew just from passing the house. Mum's friend Jess was there with her eldest son, but I didn't see them. Dad had lodged with Jess's family when he left the orphanage, aged about 14 and Jess's mum, Mrs Galloway, was almost a grandma to me and my brother. Mum stayed in her chair and I sat next to her at the front. I sat down then noticed everyone behind me was stood up. All of this up and down and kneeling, through the service, I didn't know where I was. I was asked to do the first reading and tried to steady myself about thinking of a gas bill and a line by Lily Savage, which worked and I got through the reading, except for not knowing how to end it and glanced at the priest, who mouthed the words at me and it was done. I was supposed to go up again for the bidding prayers, but as we had not had a dress rehearsal about it, I was unsure and just let him and the dean do it.
As much as I am not religious, the ceremony and its words are designed to instigate an emotional response and it worked on all of us. Many people getting up for communion held my mum's hand as they passed and as we followed dad's coffin out of the church I tried not to make eye contact with anyone. Outside, I got mum right in the car as the wind was getting worse. People came over to pay their respects to mum and me, I wasn't sure where Nick was at first. My cousin Phil came over and said hi and said he had to get back to work. I had not seen him for over 25 years and he looked no different. The cousin of my dad who called mum a few days ago came over and she looked so like him, though couldn't work out if dad and her were actually blood related. Nora and the other cousins, Magdalin and Francis and Nora's two daughters chatted to John and I and they said they would come to the crem and to the pub. One of the daughter's said she knew where the pub was.
During the service, Father Fox's mobile phone started ringing and a few of us commented about it during the slow drive to St Helen's crematorium, which took us very quickly out of suburbia and through farm land that separates Prescot and St Helens. The entrance to the crem was mercifully enclosed and we waited only briefly before I took mum right to the front next to Dad's coffin. Mose Allison's Trouble in Mind was playing and it sounded beautiful and really appropriate to the occasion. It was all too brief, the committal and before we knew it, the curtain was being closed around the stand on which Dad's coffin was resting and then Frank Sinatra's Fly Me To The Moon played and I blubbed and laughed at the same time, as did Nick and Mum.
At the Holt pub, mum wanted to get everyone a drink and so the opened a tab and then they brought out the food, which was lovely, especially the scouse, which dad would have loved. I chatted with my neice and her boyfriend, Ian who is CID and her brother Danny. I usually only see them as they pop into mum's at birthday's and christmas so it was great to sit and have a chat with them properly. I also talked to Nora and her daughters, whose names I've forgotten already. The have a relative at Ranlagh Grange where Dad was and one of them is an inspector for CQC. I told her that when Nick brought back Dad's clothes, they contained women's items and other things that were not his and some things were missing and all if stunk of urine. Nora's daughter said I had to complain about that.
As they were leaving, Nora and I cried. She said she remembered the day that mine and John's dad were taken from Nora's home to the orphanage, just a few weeks after Nora's mum was given the house that should have been given to our grandmother. I meant to ask her how Bridget died and where she was buried. John later asked if anyone had a photo of our granddad, which we didn't ask of Nora. I said I would send some photo's of dad to Francis.
The afternoon wore on and Steve was starting to look a little wobbly but we decided to go see Ken Dodd, at least for the first half (probably the first 3 hours!) and take John to the station en route. We actually got a cab right into town, after Steve poured himself a large gin and John and I a Grand Marnie. How we got on the subject, I don't know but the cabbie was big fan of Prefab Sprout, as are John and I and then the cabbie asked us to guess which female singer he has been to see 27 times. Britney Spears. You couldn't make it up. He even said he has a tattoo of her on his back. John asked was he married and he said he was but not any more. We dropped John off at Lime St station and we carried on up to the Philharmonic and popped into the pub across the road for a quick one.
Ken Dodd made his entrance to a packed house after an intro by some child dancers then some burlesque dancers and then Ken. Steve nodded off instantly and I have to say that I shut my eyes for a moment. We managed about an hour, then Ken went off and left some woman singing and playing the piano. We both went to the toilet and had a pint at the bar, so did about a hundred or so of the audience. We decided that we would go home now and went to the Phil across the road to call a cab from there. We sat in the large room at the back and then after waiting for a mini cab that came and went without us, we got a black cab, which was not as expensive as I thought it would be.
Back home, I noticed how much gin had actually gone into Steve. We had a night cap and played the tunes we had had played in the crem and I posted the Mose Allison one on Facebook.
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