Early this month we got the very sad news from our friend Bernie that his wife Anne had died, following her second liver transplant just before Christmas.  Anne was a fellow public sector accountant and I'd known her since the mid-nineties.  Bernie and Anne came out to see us when La Fulica was in Catania harbour in Sicily in August 2003, when we were in the middle of that fantastic hot summer cruising the Italian coast and islands.  They did us the great and very generous favour of paying for us to jojn them in the Villa Politi, a beautiful hotel with pool in Syracusa.  Later they came to visit us in Puglia.  Anne's liver failed catastrophically and without warning about ten years ago and she showed enormous courage and determination over her first transplant, which gave her another decade of active life.  She was such a force in life it's hard to comprehend she's no longer here and I'm sad we didn't see her more often in recent years. Last week my ex-wife...

After my Saturday run Sue and I got the train to Brighton and met up with Keith's sister Brenda and Jane, Alison and Graham, her old colleagues from Hargrave Park, where Sue first met Keith.  During brunch Brenda gave us each a small pot of Keith's ashes to do with as we wished and confirmed her intention to scatter a larger pot on the beach, Brighton being one of his favourite haunts. After brunch we wandered around the Lanes and Sue and I reminded ourselves why we like Brighton so much - a slightly louche London-on-sea, pretentious but able to take the piss out of itself and home, bless it, of Britain's first green MP.  It doesn't deserve to be stuck in the UK really, it should have itself towed into the middle of the English Channel and begin a new life as a cool version of Jersey.  I bought a pair of Doc Martins with part of Uccello's the Battle of San Romano printed on them, which seemed the right thing to do.  Then we made our way to the seafront, scrunchi...

I did my ninth funeral yesterday, number ten tomorrow.  I like to arrive at least an hour early, to be on the safe side, so I took a camera with me to Mansfield Crematorium to keep me occupied while I waited.  That's me reflected in the entrance doors to one of the "chapels".  It's an odd coincidence that I'm doing many of my services not far from where dad was brought up in Pleasley.  In fact a couple of weeks ago I did a service for a retired miner who may have been working at Pleasley Colliery in 1940/41, when my dad worked there briefly.  As a result of taking miner's funerals I've learnt more about them and the industry and its record of industrial accidents and diseases. Wandering around the Crematorium grounds, as I often do, I've frequently seen rabbits nibbling at the discarded wreaths and bouquets and yesterday I got a photo of one.  I guess there are worse ways to use so-called "floral tributes" than as food for bunnies. I...

It's been a hectic couple of weeks.  Funerals work is now starting to come in and the weekend before last I did a course on baby naming. I've done three funerals in the last two weeks and have another one booked for next week, including my dad that means I've done six so far.  It's hard and stressful work, but also very rewarding and I've had wonderful feedback so far.  There are some frustrations however.  My fellow celebrants are a very mixed bunch, some are really great and some are in it because they like the sound of their own voice and/or to allow their prejudices to have a free rein. I am definitely a humanist, but I'm becoming clearer and clearer that I don't especially want to conduct "humanist" funerals, I would rather conduct a funeral as a humanist, which for me is quite a different thing.  Lots of my colleagues have a hatred, even a fear, of any religious references within a service, thus creating a kind of "humanist space...

It's been a couple of weeks since Sue and I scattered dad's ashes and she is back in Borneo and I'm still in Lincoln.  I've been gradually emptying out his little bungalow of some of his more idiosyncratic personal touches.  Like the clocks everywhere, in wooden boxes with fake pendulums and cheap quartz movements.  Maybe they were his idea of a joke about time passing.  The oddest things make me tearful, such as the plastic model of the USS Constitution that has stood on the living room window ledge for years.  He made it when his hands still worked properly and it must have taken a lot of time and care.  Now it's all dusty and some of its spars are broken, it has no value and I've moved it into the garage to await its fate, probably the recycling bin.  All that time and effort for nothing. Hanging up my washing I noticed that the pear tree was in bud.  A few years ago dad tried to "make a feature" of it by painting it in creosote and sti...

Sue and I made our way to South Dock Marina on the morning of Wednesday 19th March to meet our old friend Pedro Lewis, who had laid on a workboat.  It was a good place to start as the marina is on the site of the old Surrey Commercial Docks where dad guarded the gates for much of his PLA police career. We headed out onto the river at about 10.00am with the tide still making.  The thirty or so minutes down to Greenwich passed quickly as we talked of people and boats we had known, some now dead or sunk.  As we headed downriver the sun began to shine. I remembered the spot where dad and I had scattered mum ashes twenty two years before and gave Pedro directions: "its just after the entrance to the Greenwich foot tunnel on the Isle of Dogs side, where you can see up through the naval college to the Queen's House and the Royal Observatory. On reaching the spot Pedro stemmed the tide while I opened the little tin box containing dad's ashes at the stern of the workboat...

The period after dad's death passed in a blur of administrative stuff.  After someone dies they have to be killed bureaucratically and this takes a lot of effort. In contrast the Memorial Service came together quite easily.  Dad's local social club was the obvious choice and booking and organising the catering was straightforward and dad had given me a list of people to invite.  In the end there were about thirty people, including dad's principal carers which I was very pleased about. One thing I really wanted was a bugler to play the last post and to my surprise the Royal Marines provided one free of charge.  Bugler Gillian Forde, who was very serious and very professional, played beautifully and then ate a vast amount of sandwiches before driving back to Portsmouth. Rosemary operated the lights and Sue controlled the music.  Which made me feel very supported.  It was lovely too to have our friend Claude there, all the way from Puglia. ...

(Opening music: the “One Fine Day” aria from Madame Butterfly sung by Maria Callas) Opening Words Welcome everybody to this memorial service for my dad, Douglas Jean Duckworth.   Dad died of pneumonia on 8 th February 2015 in Lincoln County Hospital. We discussed what he wanted in the way of a send off a few months ago.   He decided that he would like to be cremated anonymously, followed by a Humanist memorial service at a venue near his home.   He liked the idea of the cremation being anonymous, because having been to Lincoln Crem. for the funerals of his first wife, my mum, Eva and his second wife Phyllis, he had no affection for the place and it pleased him to think that this would put more money behind the bar for his friends to enjoy. He also chose the music that was played earlier.   It’s the “One Fine Day” aria from Madame Butterfly.   The “Humanist” bit was mainly to please me, as I’m a Humanist funeral celebrant and he probably t...