escalated. Mum loved the chickens we kept in a coop in the back yard. I scooped them from their perches in the dark and they were subjected to having their feet dipped in paint. The side of the coffin became a colourful montage of chicken footprints, and there were also footprints on the back verandah where they walked after having been so rudely woken from their slumbers.
The following morning Aaron did the same trip in reverse, taking the garishly decorated casket back to the funeral parlour where Mumâs body was lying. He took down her best outfit so she could be dressed, placed in the casket and brought back home for the last time. It was suggested by the ladies in white that they should bring her in the hearse rather than making the return journey in the back of Aaronâs ute. They were probably right.
That last night we gathered again, eating, drinking and telling funny Muriel stories while she lay in state on the kitchen table. Most of the stories revolved around her capacity for outrageousbehaviour. Aaron recalled only a month before when David and I were away for the weekend and he had decided to have a party at the house. Mum went to bed early as usual, then woke up and joined the party after midnight, dressed in her nightie. She sat up drinking with a gang of teenage boys for hours until she finally fell asleep on the sofa and they all carried her back to her bed. Typical. It felt good knowing she was there inside the box on the kitchen table with all these stories being told around her and about her. Everyone was laughing. Although we were terribly sad, we were also happy. Our memories of her were happy ones. It certainly helped.
The morning of the funeral, Miriam and I opened the coffin and applied a little make-up to Mumâs face. We invited people for 11 a.m. and the plan was to leave for the cemetery at 1.30 p.m. We had organised champagne and lots of sandwiches. It was to be a party.
People gathered on the back lawn and drank champagne. David was the MC and we all spoke: David, Miriam, both my brothers, close friends and neighbours. My brother Jon reminded us what a beautiful and elegant young woman Muriel had been when he first knew her. Jim McClelland reminisced about their shared political beliefs. It was informal and spontaneous and it all felt just right.
After the sandwiches, we opened the lid of the casket so that those who wanted to could see Muriel and say goodbye. Quite a few family and friends had said they didnât wish to see her in death, but somehow now they all did. They filed past her coffin and kissed her goodbye. There wasnât a dry eye in the house.
The hearse arrived and we hastily replaced the lid and the pallbearers marched her coffin around the garden she had lovedso much, up and down the winding pathways and between the roses. She chose well to die in spring when the garden was at its peak. As they carried her out the front gate (I had removed the cow manure by this time), the entire party let out a thunderous cheer.
At the cemetery the mood was more sombre and sober. We placed her last half-empty bottle of Scotch and half-finished packet of cigarettes on the coffin as it was lowered gently into the ground. An Aboriginal friend told David that it is customary in their culture for the deceased to be associated with a favourite animal or bird which is symbolic at the moment of interment. Mum had always loved the noisy currawongs that came up from the valley every autumn and sheltered in our garden. So we called out âcurrawong, currawongâ as a parting gesture. When we looked up into the gum trees at the back of the cemetery there were currawongs everywhere, watching.
Mum was a Celt and fiercely proud of her heritage. We built a traditional cairn of stones over her grave. She also loved the symbolism of the Celtic cross and we had one made for her from sandstone with her name, Muriel Flora Moody, and date of birth and death inscribed. Under her name we
The following morning Aaron did the same trip in reverse, taking the garishly decorated casket back to the funeral parlour where Mumâs body was lying. He took down her best outfit so she could be dressed, placed in the casket and brought back home for the last time. It was suggested by the ladies in white that they should bring her in the hearse rather than making the return journey in the back of Aaronâs ute. They were probably right.
That last night we gathered again, eating, drinking and telling funny Muriel stories while she lay in state on the kitchen table. Most of the stories revolved around her capacity for outrageousbehaviour. Aaron recalled only a month before when David and I were away for the weekend and he had decided to have a party at the house. Mum went to bed early as usual, then woke up and joined the party after midnight, dressed in her nightie. She sat up drinking with a gang of teenage boys for hours until she finally fell asleep on the sofa and they all carried her back to her bed. Typical. It felt good knowing she was there inside the box on the kitchen table with all these stories being told around her and about her. Everyone was laughing. Although we were terribly sad, we were also happy. Our memories of her were happy ones. It certainly helped.
The morning of the funeral, Miriam and I opened the coffin and applied a little make-up to Mumâs face. We invited people for 11 a.m. and the plan was to leave for the cemetery at 1.30 p.m. We had organised champagne and lots of sandwiches. It was to be a party.
People gathered on the back lawn and drank champagne. David was the MC and we all spoke: David, Miriam, both my brothers, close friends and neighbours. My brother Jon reminded us what a beautiful and elegant young woman Muriel had been when he first knew her. Jim McClelland reminisced about their shared political beliefs. It was informal and spontaneous and it all felt just right.
After the sandwiches, we opened the lid of the casket so that those who wanted to could see Muriel and say goodbye. Quite a few family and friends had said they didnât wish to see her in death, but somehow now they all did. They filed past her coffin and kissed her goodbye. There wasnât a dry eye in the house.
The hearse arrived and we hastily replaced the lid and the pallbearers marched her coffin around the garden she had lovedso much, up and down the winding pathways and between the roses. She chose well to die in spring when the garden was at its peak. As they carried her out the front gate (I had removed the cow manure by this time), the entire party let out a thunderous cheer.
At the cemetery the mood was more sombre and sober. We placed her last half-empty bottle of Scotch and half-finished packet of cigarettes on the coffin as it was lowered gently into the ground. An Aboriginal friend told David that it is customary in their culture for the deceased to be associated with a favourite animal or bird which is symbolic at the moment of interment. Mum had always loved the noisy currawongs that came up from the valley every autumn and sheltered in our garden. So we called out âcurrawong, currawongâ as a parting gesture. When we looked up into the gum trees at the back of the cemetery there were currawongs everywhere, watching.
Mum was a Celt and fiercely proud of her heritage. We built a traditional cairn of stones over her grave. She also loved the symbolism of the Celtic cross and we had one made for her from sandstone with her name, Muriel Flora Moody, and date of birth and death inscribed. Under her name we
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