When the funeral director tapped me on the shoulder, possessed of a guilty conscience I naturally thought I had done something wrong. So I flinched.
Far from it, the tall, sepulchral fellow with a yellow-ochre waxwork complexion and straw for hair was saying something in hushed tones. I leant in towards him.
‘If you don’t mind my saying, sir,’ he wheezed, ‘your conduct at this funeral service was exemplary – better than that of most celebrants who pass through these doors.’ His rheumy eyes rolled in an attempt at affability. ‘And my assistant agrees.’ The underling nodded obediently.
Later, when I walked back through the cottage doors, the service and the ‘wake’ behind me, I felt two feet taller. That’s what I’ve been missing. It was my mother who used to compliment me, at every opportunity. My wife compliments me only on a wartime rationing basis.
What is a funeral celebrant and what is their role? There are two main types to choose from: a civil celebrant or a humanist celebrant. Both can conduct funerals only in non-denominational locations. Their duties include ensuring specific funeral wishes are carried out.
I was not only celebrant but also curator and auteur of my mother’s very personalised, artistic service. Since it was based on the theme of vegetative regeneration, some of the younger members of the congregation were invited to read out poems by Walt Whitman and Sir John Betjeman.
Two screens projected a photograph in lurid Technicolor of the dear departed’s Welsh walled garden with views of Snowdonia. Onto these was superimposed my mother’s name in white (my only gripe was that the typesetting was a bit Janet and John).
You could almost smell the sea and hear the bumble-bees. ‘All the live murmur of a summer’s day’, to quote Matthew Arnold.
Other duties for me included the creation of a eulogy. Tick. Offering support to the family on the day of the funeral. Tick.
And hosting and officiating at the funeral service on the day. Tick.
It was not difficult for me to ‘keep it together’, as they say. I didn’t well up or get ‘emosh’. This simply never occurs.
When I was a minor public-school boy in Salop, one of the first lessons we boarders learnt was to compartmentalise our feelings and develop a stiff upper lip.
Or risk the chilling prospect of being held down behind the bike sheds and used as a human sleeping policeman while cycling contemporaries repeatedly ran over their chosen victim.
The idea of celebrants arose from families wanting to arrange services unbound by rules and regulations to celebrate their loved ones’ lives, but with a secular MC standing in for a priest. EEK!
Thankfully there was a conspicuous Christian cross affixed to the wall of what was a perfectly pleasant, light and functional space. But how long before the whole funeral palaver becomes an unregulated free-for-all, like Mafia-run vets and care homes?
Having arrived an hour early – this celebrant errs on the side of caution regarding punctuality – I wandered through the ‘extensive landscaped grounds’ around the crematorium. I spotted some jolly odd post-Christian imagery. A giant resin badger stood sentinel over a deceased children’s area.
An odd-looking tree, which I could tell was a type of monumental sculpture, attracted my attention. Each individual removable leaf bore an inscription to a ‘loved one’. The whole thing to my eyes was hellish, but there’s no accounting for taste. The metallic leaves were designed to rust to ‘imitate the natural colouring of nature’s seasons’ – and then I thought
of Harry and Paul’s sketch of the Notting Hill purveyor of grot to trustafarians whose shop sign above the door said ‘I SAW YOU COMING’.
The money-making potential of deregulated end-of-life/passing-on services and events has scarcely begun.
The few Anglicans who remain loyal to the church must expect further haemorrhaging in the wake of recent safeguarding issues. Abject families, at a difficult time, are emotionally vulnerable and can be easily exploited by the unscrupulous, just as a sick pet can be
by a vet. So it might be a good time to discuss
money. Do celebrants charge fees for their services? Well, let me be the first to tell you that the going rate is approximately £230, though I will naturally be waiving my own fee.
But, without the waiver, you would be paying a bit extra for the polish – the little bit of polish – I accrued from Shrewsbury. You would expect to pay a little bit extra for a celebrant with no trace of a regional accent – although I know, in these topsy-turvy times, that many Britons prefer one, especially a Geordie accent.
The big decision for the budding celebrant would be whether you could stomach more than one service per day.
I would exempt myself from consumer websites such as Checkatrade or Tripadvisor, but I would make a special point of advising the bereaved on what NOT to spend their money on – including these nice little earners:
1) Paying extra to launch your loved one’s ashes into outer space, with or without video footage, for ashes to fall in the future as rain or even snow.
2) Having your loved one’s ashes enfolded into a compact disc of your loved one’s favourite music. Yuk!
3) We almost fell for this one. Expensive bejewelled caskets to transport your loved one’s ashes. No thanks. A good quality, robust paper bag will do. Preferably from sustainably and ethically sourced wood pulp.
