A Life Well Lived

Taking a few cooling sips from her water bottle the funeral celebrant wipes the perspiration from her face. Her nervousness stems both from the number of those assembled – more than twice as many as any she has addressed previously and this despite the weather – and from her own relationship with, and affection for the deceased. She so wants to get this right.

As the first piece of music - Lily Allen’s Somewhere Only We Know - to which they had all filed in behind the coffin, fades to finish it sounds to the woman as if every single member of the crowd before her is either clearing his or her throat or shuffling impatiently in their seat whilst waiting for her to begin. Taking a deep breath she smiles and says.

Hello everyone. Welcome to this ceremony in honour of the life of Peter (Davy) Davies. My name is Jayne, and I have the privledge of being your celebrant today.

We are here today to express our sorrow at Davy’s death but this occasion is also an opportunity for us to focus on the good memories we have of Davy; on the many positive achievements in his life and on the many ways he touched the lives of all of us and of many others.  

Once started Jayne is fine and continues by telling some stories from the colourful, but sadly too short, life of the deceased. It had not been difficult to collect material for the eulogy, indeed the problem had been what to leave out without losing some of the highlights of the autobiography or upsetting any of the very many people who were only too willing to provide her with detail about Davy’s adventures and kindnesses. Everyone had a different tale to tell and it became ever more evident to Jayne that the man’s life was both complicated and vibrant. She appreciates too that the jigsaw of memoirs she has put together is more than likely missing a piece or few.

At his death, from phenomena at 42, Davy had been estranged from his kin but well respected and loved by a myriad of ‘friends as family’ as he called the many women and men, girls and boys who are now grieving the loss of him.  A hard worker, but with no employer, Davy enjoyed a barter type arrangement - a meal and a chat; a new overcoat or a book – rather than a monetary reward. Having previously served society as soldier and as teacher his skills demonstrated his reputation as a fixer. His ability to build bridges and calm tension were legendary and his sense of humour, despite past and present distresses and demons, admirable and infectious.  

A few stories in Jayne moves away from the lectern to make way for a couple of readings by others. Again there had been many takers for this honour but the self-appointed funeral planning group had unanimously decided on two presentations. The first is, most appropriately, Robert Frost’s poem The Road Not Taken, read by the head of the local secondary school, where Davy had recently repaired the bike shed. Following this a bittersweet piece of prose written, and read, especially for the occasion, by a man (younger than Davy by a decade, although he looks older than a newish thirty-something) who credits his own ability to make the most out of what life offers to the influence of his friend.  

Some music next. If there were any dry eyes (and that’s debatable) before a group of Year 6s from Blake Street Primary started singing Will There Be Any Stars? – a hymn written at the end of the 19^th Century, represented more recently by folk and country music artists – the sniffing and passing round of tissues confirms that there are none at the end of their rendition.

Back on her feet Jayne blows her nose and continues with a few more fragments from Davy’s life-story before introducing a time for reflection, and prayer for those with a faith, accompanied by a recording of Woody Guthrie singing This Land Is Your Land? And then the committal. There is a song-sheet this time and everyone gustily joins in with Joni Mitchell singing Big Yellow Taxi: they paved paradise indeed…

Given the number of mourners it’s not surprising that it takes a while for everyone to leave. As they do they almost all, children included, drop a little, or more, into the basket reserved for the monetary collection. All this in addition to their contributions to the crowdfunding appeal to cover the costs of the funeral. The recipient charity, which supports ex-service personnel experiencing post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) and social exclusion, will greatly benefit from the amount collected, which represents a fitting way to remember Peter (Davy) Davies who died alone, on the streets, his home for many years since his own mental health issues began. As Jayne lifts the basket, full to the rim of coins and notes, she weeps a little once more, moved by the tribute to, and legacy in recognition of, a man who, although he lived on the fringes of the community, was central to its heart.  

NB: I wrote this with today - World Mental Health Day and World Homelessness Day (both 10th October 2017) - in mind. Gayle