bygone times

I went to a family funeral today. The deceased was a second cousin, G. Having no first cousins, second cousins have always been important, and there are loads of them. I hadn't seen G. - or most of these second cousins - for yonks, partly due to moving to France myself, for three years.

So many people turned up for the service that I thought they might have to install a television outside the crematorium, (as they do at Wimbledon when British players are performing well) for those who hadn't managed to fit even into the balcony. G. was an expert in the maintenance and repair of classic cars and the three people who delivered a tribute to him at the service managed to do so in a way that allowed the mourners to reflect on his life and to laugh as well as feeling moved. No small achievement. As someone said afterwards, it would have been easy to have everyone in floods of tears, but each speaker had the knack of hitting the right note so there wasn't too much emotion.

Following the service, about sixty of us went back to the home of G's brother. The immediate family had stuck up on the walls clusters of photos of G. and others, photos spanning fifty years. Over a finger buffet and tea I caught up with many people. There was a lovely warmth to the occasion, a feeling of being part of something special. After my mother died, when my brother, sister and I invited people back to the house, G. and his brother lingered long after other guests had left. I remember feeling cocooned by their presence, as if I still belonged to something bigger. Today I was only one of many, and not as close a blood relative as most, but I hoped my attendance, my staying until the end, meant something to G's siblings. I can think of few families who care about each other as much as that clan does.

At such times there's a tendency to look back. When growing up, one of the highlights of the year was the family Christmas party. This rotated round four families and was quite an event. It always followed the same routine. We'd arrive around 6 pm, and receive a welcoming drink. Dinner was a grand affair, seated - generally - at one long beautifully-laid table, perhaps about 30 of us. The menu was traditional and sumptuous. You could imagine how long it took to serve thirty people turkey with all the trimmings.

The dessert course consisted of at least five puddings - some brought by the guests, and including Christmas pudding. In those days, it was still the fashion to bury trinkets in the pudding, including five pence pieces. As a young child I remember staring in horror and awe as an elderly aunt - a brusque, witch-like woman with straight white hair and a fringe - pretended to choke on a five pound note. Coffee would be accompanied by chocolates and other candies.




After dinner we would play games - often far too intellectual for me. As well as the cerebral ones, we'd also indulge in the more silly variety like having two teams whose task it was to pass by mouth a slice of orange speared by a cocktail stick, to each other. Each family had to produce a party piece. After the games there would be country dancing, which I loved. This would be followed by carol singing, which I hated. Then there were group photos. And finally, though we were still stuffed full of turkey and puddings, tea and sandwiches would be served. On the drive to the party, we would count the number of Christmas trees we spotted in people's homes.

G, of course, was always at those parties. He was a tease, and I was never able to match him in repartee. I remember, as a twelve year old, the following conversation.

'I was shopping in Woolies,' I told him.
'You mean Woolworths,' he said.
'Yes,' I replied, duly chastened. 'Then I went to Marks and Spencers.'
'You mean M & S,' he said.
I nodded. Bemused. Confused.

G. knew everything about everything.

As an older child, I developed a crush on one of these second cousins. D. was tall, dark and ruggedly dashing. He worked for the RAF, in catering (nothing as glam as being a fighter pilot). As D's family lived in the south of England, they didn't attend the parties that often, so when I saw him there, my young woman's heart moved up a gear or two. Imagine the tension of waiting to see if he'd asked me to partner him in the Gay Gordons or spin me round in Strip the Willow. Stretch your imagination further and think of a flock of - by that time approaching elderly - aunts watching the dancing, and, I was convinced, looking out for any signs of impropriety: a blushing smile on my part, a harmless if flirtatious comment on his. Not quite the same degree of angst found in John Galsworthy's Forsyte Saga where Fleur Forsyte and John Forsyte couldn't be allowed to love each other. But D. and I were second cousins and sometimes the air felt thick with disapproval if I even said 'hallo' to him.


If this happened now, of course, with all the electronic social networking methods at our disposal, I suppose I would have been emailing, facebooking, texting D. to see if anything might come of us. In those days, though, it would have been a question of writing, and I was far too demure and lacking in self-belief to take such initiative.

This large brood of cousins were outgoing, had varied interests and at least superficial confidence and were great company. Grown up nephews would ask elderly aunts to do a sedate Canadian Barn dance. Socially-skilled twelve year old boys would twirl their nine year old boy cousins round and round so they felt included.

But there was a downside to all this. If you were less sure of yourself, you might sink without trace. Any incomers to the family, found them a formidable group to meet en masse for the first time. Apparently my father, always a shy if intelligent and well-read man, was terrified when he was about to be "presented" to them upon his engagement to my mother. His sister, also shy, also intelligent and well-informed, fared little better. Not knowing about the obligatory party piece to be dished up after dinner, on her first attendance she was shocked to be asked to sing. She had a lovely voice, but this enforced performance shook her so much that it took her decades to return to another get together, by which time most of the more intimidating attendees had popped their clogs.

Today this great family of my mother's cousins are spread all over, the furthest relative living in Perth, Australia; another one in Calgary, Canada, yet another in Holland. The rest are interspersed over Scotland and England. Yet, they remain so close emotionally. To see them all together feels like one extended family. As second cousins, we always receive a welcome.

It was a delightful afternoon of reconnecting. Yes, it was sad to say goodbye to G, but there was a cosiness which I am always surprised and pleased to experience. During reminiscences with a cousin with whom I stayed in London on various occasions. I reminded her of the evening when she was cooking dinner. As she laboriously peeled potatoes, stopping every minute to tell me a story, I grew hungrier and hungrier. So much so that when she produced a loaf of bread, I devoured all of it before the potatoes were in the pot to boil. Naturally she recalled the evening differently.



I received open invitations to Garmouth, north of Elgin, and to Calgary. Genuine and not given out of duty. We might be blogging and surfing, living the technological life of the 21st century, the younger generation taking "gap" years before university, but such family events feel like going back decades.

I returned home to my most loved ones, mellow and reflective. Chances are I won't see this gang until the next funeral but the warmth of the occasion will stay with me for some time. It always does.

Poignantly yours

Jane