Rest in Peace

There you go Alice I told you Kelly would be just sweating on that 2.45am London time, call, thank god I ignored your warnings.
I just got off the phone to Sok who was very much relieved to hear that all went well with Thursday’s proceedings though at this stage he has only my recollections upon which to base this assumption. It’s hard to remember in any detail now my exact communication with my luddite brother except that he was audibly able to return twice to the bar for another drink and once to the lav to relieve himself. His spirits were high and he was grateful to hear news of recent events. He made preparation for the day of our mother’s interment on Wednesday night viewing Foxtel’s presentation of Anthony Mundine’s fight in memory of our fathers last night in this plane when he (our father or pater noster for you classical freaks) rose to view a Geoff Feneck fight on TV before retiring once more and expiring with a sigh, of frustration or contentment we shall never know. Stephen’s words, expertly read by Hugh at the funeral and unfortunately missing from my recording were, as I recall, eloquent and I look forward to reading them again on this blog.
Sue’s eulogy was another classic read beautifully by Gabby whose delivery should have been recorded as requisite inspiration for all students of drama. I am beginning to recognize a distinctive Sue-style in blogs which was very evident in these beautiful and heartfelt words and I look forward to reading it in a text form on this blog.
Hugh’s eulogy was magnificent and delivered with the aplomb of a professional, as of course he is. Professionalism aside I’m sure this was difficult in the highest degree and Hugh, you did not disappoint. Get your work into print, right here if you like, as soon as possible please. It was only with great discipline and much sitting on of hands that I was able to overcome the desire to applaud these presentations in a manner most unbecoming to the occasion.
I lay no claim to be a funeral expert but I was many ways surprised by this one. Not the least by the full blown requiem Mass with three priests and a doddering assistant in attendance but also by the attendance of so many, some of whom attempted to introduce themselves, “hello I’m Maureen O’hara Santa Sabina 63”, some who I recognized as faces from St Michael’s both resident and staff and many I did not recognize at all. It was hard enough to keep up with relatives such as Uncle John who like many others had gone and gotten older behind my back.
Limousine travel to Rookwood, blessedly communal and flash, was better than individual cars but not as comfortable and accommodating as the mini bus I had envisioned and whilst I barely noticed the decanters, tumblers and ice buckets they seemed to put others in a state of agitation.
The weather was much kinder than last I visited and I was now able to view where we interred my dad, on top of whom due to our foresight we were able to inter my mum. I don’t speak for any other than myself when I say that this seems a little crowded though I don’t suspect it matters to the dead and it’s less consumptive of precious land. At the risk of seeming insensitive I find it strange and wasteful to bury the dead in lavishly ornate caskets polished and adorned with chromium plated plastic accessories and lace linings. I do hope that the manufacturers of such products ensure that they are of equal biodegradability to the carcasses they contain. I’m not going to even speculate here as to what we may have found had our grave diggers gone a little deeper other than to mention that it crossed my mind.
I was particularly impressed by the music score presented by Anne, Catherine and the echoing choir (more of this later). I am no less impressed by Anne’s dominance of the funeral directors whose expectations were found to be subservient to hers when it came to the question of a few minutes’ delay of proceedings. Once more as in the church proceedings I found myself sublimating the impulse to applaud.
I think I speak for most of my family and friends when I say that they had little Idea of how to behave in a requiem mass. Many confessed later to be beholding to John (Byrne), if he stood we did, if he knelt we did etc. as he was the only one in front of us who expressed a confidence in procedure. From behind we heard only a rumble of movement or a magic chorus of Catherine’s voice which it took some time for me to recognize as not some miracle of acoustics but the accompaniment of the parish in mystery (at least to me) hymn.
Events such as this seem daunting to one like me who has never had even a hire purchase agreement let alone a mortgage to deal with. Can you still get a hire purchase agreement or have I completely missed my opportunity. Of course you never feel completely out of your depth with John on your team and this was no exception though this time he stayed somewhat in the background leaving some of the organization to the next generation whom he no doubt wisely saw needed to gain the experience. I saw Gabby as the obvious choice to assume this mantle and it did not escape my notice that she was there always paying attention. Go Gabb you get my proxy.
Alighting from the limo at the Bourbon in Kings Cross I felt like a seasoned pro, limo wise, and would not have been fazed to have been greeted by Paris or Anna Nicole had she survived poor thing. The Bourbon was not as stark a destination as I had imagined and logically having been up for so long, having traveled so far and having performed such significant life anchoring functions, any house prepared to serve food and ale was going to seem like nirvana. Once ensconced the family quickly assumed the classic Aussie stance with all the men at one table, the women at another, a posture we were able to sustain only briefly I’m sorry John (Howard that is) at least we try. Some wonderful conversations were had, in particular with John Byrne and Michael Blewitt, if only I could remember their content. Reporters of course take notes in those groovy little pads, some in short hand, or have mini recorders which they hold under peoples noses but I find myself incapable of either of these techniques so if you want to know you’ll just have to have your own conversations but be sure to record them and publish for me. All I can report is that I had a grand uncle Ambrose who I had never before heard of before. If anyone has John Byrnes email please send him this plea to put in print what he recalls of our conversation.
Least some might think I missed the real business of the day let me assure you that I did pause many times to wish mum a fond farewell into the heaven where she certainly deserves to be reunited with those loved ones who departed before her. Farewell mum I love you and wish you well.
Robert