I interrupted my leave last week to conduct the funeral of a ninety-two-year-old church member. (We have quite a collection of ninety-somethings; the air may have given some asthma round here, but it seems to have other more beneficial effects, too).
The funeral was due to commence at noon. At 7:45 that morning, one of my church stewards had posted large notices advising people that the car park would be needed then. The notices were particularly needed, because we let the back hall to a pre-school of a weekday morning. Most people obliged. The pre-school leaders even said that had they had more notice, they would have finished their session early for us. Very kind.
However, one mother – who had seen the signs when dropping off her child and again when collecting – was tardy. Her green Vauxhall Astra got blocked in by the hearse. Apparently, it was our fault she would now be late for an appointment. She made ludicrous accusations against one of the most gentlemanly church members I’ve ever known anywhere.
As we were about to process into church with the coffin, she demanded my time. I refused, as I was more concerned with grieving people. I invited her to phone me later. She never did. But the gist of her complaint was that we should not be allowed to hold a funeral at church when we hire out to the pre-school. She claimed that the pre-school’s rental includes car parking spaces (it doesn’t), and she acted with total disregard for the mourners. The undertaker had promised to move the hearse at the earliest opportunity, but this was unacceptable.
As we took the coffin into the church where the deceased had worshipped for fifty or more years, Mrs Angry gunned her engine as loudly as she could in protest. She was no hoodie or shell-suit wearing inner city type. She was a literate middle-class woman, who clearly thought that money deserved to talk louder than compassion. The distress she caused the bereaved family was appalling. The example she gave to her young child was dreadful.
And so I just wondered – what are your funeral horror stories?
Big Circumstance 
Test post – Sally has reported Typepad refusing to allow comments.
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My worst experience at a funeral was when one of the mourners decided to die in the church porch just before the hearse arrived. It isn’t an experience I’d want to repeat.
Sounds like you handled this one with the proper dignity.
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I knew a vicar who, after many days of heavy rain waterlogging the ground, fell into the open grave on top of the coffin. He never quite got the stain out of his surplice.
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Richard, I tried to keep proper dignity. But I admit I was glad I had sixteen years’ experience of conducting funerals that allowed me to go on auto-pilot in the first half of the service, so that my very real inner anger didn’t throw me off track.
Corin, thanks for your story, too.
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