Four funerals and a wedding

When we arrived at the cemetery we very soon learned that it wasn’t in fact that young lady who had died, it was an elderly aunt of the same name. We uttered our thanks to the heavens but then were immediately struck by guilt; “It’s only an old lady!” Anyway, the funeral was postponed for a few hours, so we went for lunch at our roadside cafe. This was to be the fifth funeral this year, three for expats and two for Turks. I’m sorry to say that all three expat deaths were to a large extent booze- and cigarette-related, and all three were somewhat premature. One of the Turkish dead had smoked but had reached a fine age, and as far as I know the aunty we would bury soon was a non-smoker.

Most readers will know that Turkish funerals are very different indeed from the European version, certainly in our valley. The first thing one will notice is that nobody dresses up. Normal everyday clothing is fine. The next thing is that the deceased is not solemnly and slowly borne through the cemetery; he or she is carried from the funeral car at just a little more than normal walking speed, with the attendees trotting behind or perhaps up front. Usually the body is carried as far as the grave in a simple plywood box, there to be removed from the box and lowered, wrapped in white cloth, into the ground. Our expat friends had disposable coffins, that is to say coffins to be buried, but of very simple construction. I’m guessing that the cost of each would not exceed 50 pounds or so.

Now if it took you as much as 30 seconds to read the preceding paragraph, then the “ceremony” so far described is very nearly in real-time! I was once required to say a prayer at the funeral of a friend. I had planned to say my thing either whilst the coffin was poised above the hole or perhaps just before the hole was back-filled. No chance, the coffin went straight in and the back-fill started immediately. If I remember well I waited until the job was finished before I had my chance to speak.

Islamic prayers are recited at our funerals, even Christian funerals; sometimes by more than one imam and as far as I can make out at any time during the procedure. That’s fine with us; I assume that the sentiments are appropriate.

Now, you know how I feel about mobile phones. I hate the things and to my mind answering a mobile phone at a funeral is just about the epitome of bad manners. I am obviously in the minority as no one else seems to turn a hair when “La Cucaracha” rings its melodious tones over the supposedly solemn congregation or when Ali bellows “Alo” into his mobile. Some Alis have the sensitivity to walk a few meters away from the graveside so that they might discuss the progress of their building project with their cousin, but many do not.

Residents and long-time visitors to Turkey will know that the majority of Turkish men must smoke a cigarette about every 15 minutes. The event of a funeral and attendance thereto does not alter that habit. One or more of the chaps lowering the body into its ultimate resting place may well have a cigarette gripped between his lips. I have never seen a guy stub out his cigarette on the graveside in order to answer his mobile phone, but it won’t surprise me when it does happen. Stub it out on the box? Well, probably not.

Having used more than half this column commenting on Turkish funerals, let me now say that perhaps our Western funerals are a little bit too solemn and formal. I would dearly like to see something of a compromise between “our” way and “theirs.” I don’t think many people would disagree if I say that the costs involved in a European or American funeral are simply ridiculous, in particular the cost of a coffin. I’m pleased to hear that there is a movement towards cheaper coffins; cardboard coffins being promoted by the “green” movement come to mind. I think that Ikea does a flat-pack.

I am a great believer in the idea of a wake. The Celtic idea that having quite solemnly buried the body of our dear departed, we gather together to eat, drink and swap fond anecdotes of him or her is, I think, a fine thing. “Do you remember the time when he…?”

In my mind such a gathering is a very healthy way of dealing with the feelings of loss.

One of the funerals which I mentioned for European friends had Die Frau say that it was something of a freak show. The man was a heavy drinker and spent most of his days in the three or four pubs catering exclusively for a clique of day-long-drinking expats. Those chaps attended in a bizarre range of dress, including one man in British Army “Blues” and several who seemed to be in cowboy clobber complete with black broad-brimmed hats. Most of the men wore earrings, one had about six in one ear and there was a lot of gold to be seen.

I recall only one wedding this year, one in the corner of our valley known as The Bronx. The marrying couple was unfortunate with the weather and the dancing soon resulted in the bride’s dress being mudded up to about knee level. Then came the fight which altogether spoiled the affair.

Yes, yes, I am well aware that I have mentioned five funerals, but “Five Funerals and a Wedding” just doesn’t jive so well, does it?