Thursday, August 19, 2010
The book ends
Summer is here and with it unpaid leave. I am reduced from days (count) to time (non-count).
An amount of time (or a number of days) ago, the family gathered in darkest Kent to commit the grandad's ashes. A new tree at Sidcup Golf Club has had its roots invigorated by Maurice Langley Court, 24th September 1918 to 29th January 2010.
Of course, the grandad was such a noted hypochondriac that the tree in question is probably going to spend the rest of eternity worrying about dutch elm disease and irritable knotholes.
I had the honour of chauffeuring the urn, which did give me an inkling of a hideously inappropriate gag in which I threw sherbet round the inside of the car, then hopped out covered in powder at the golf club and dramatically announced that Grandad had been no end of trouble.
The things one thinks.
Seeing the dates of my grandfather's life etched on the plaque by the tree was a more solemn moment: birth and death like a pair of bookends. It's when you see something like that written down that you realise it's for good. The old boys from the golf club broke into a chorus of "For he's a jolly good fellow". It was one of those moments I think I'll always remember.
The mum handled it all bravely, announcing at the end that she'll never some back to South London. Devoted son though I am, that did give me one or two creative ideas about where her ashes might go after the hang gliding accident on her 127th birthday.
Best she specifies someone else be in charge of that.
***
There were geese, thanks to the presence of a small lake at the club. I sidled over to this gaggle and bade them a quick 'boo'. They didn't bat an eyelid.
I suppose I just have an enquiring mind.
An amount of time (or a number of days) ago, the family gathered in darkest Kent to commit the grandad's ashes. A new tree at Sidcup Golf Club has had its roots invigorated by Maurice Langley Court, 24th September 1918 to 29th January 2010.
Of course, the grandad was such a noted hypochondriac that the tree in question is probably going to spend the rest of eternity worrying about dutch elm disease and irritable knotholes.
I had the honour of chauffeuring the urn, which did give me an inkling of a hideously inappropriate gag in which I threw sherbet round the inside of the car, then hopped out covered in powder at the golf club and dramatically announced that Grandad had been no end of trouble.
The things one thinks.
Seeing the dates of my grandfather's life etched on the plaque by the tree was a more solemn moment: birth and death like a pair of bookends. It's when you see something like that written down that you realise it's for good. The old boys from the golf club broke into a chorus of "For he's a jolly good fellow". It was one of those moments I think I'll always remember.
The mum handled it all bravely, announcing at the end that she'll never some back to South London. Devoted son though I am, that did give me one or two creative ideas about where her ashes might go after the hang gliding accident on her 127th birthday.
Best she specifies someone else be in charge of that.
***
There were geese, thanks to the presence of a small lake at the club. I sidled over to this gaggle and bade them a quick 'boo'. They didn't bat an eyelid.
I suppose I just have an enquiring mind.
Labels: CLAN
