Monday morning past I received a WhatsApp informing me that an acquaintance had died on Saturday and that the funeral would be at 6pm this very day. For a normal funeral, it is the custom in Spain to do the funeral the next day, if possible, due to the heat.
I was shocked, but then again not. I had seen this man on the Friday before and he had huge dark sunglasses on. Virtually pure black. But creeping beneath the bottom I could just about see unusually heavy bloated eye bags. It was shocking and I asked him if he wanted a beer. Yes, a beer. He loved beer and thought it might cheer him up.
I shall call this man Felip because I think it is best not to identify him. Anyone who reads this from the village will know of course who he is, but no need to make an international identification. Felip accepted the beer and said gracias. He has always been very civil as far as I am concerned, but I noted how weak his voice was. When I left the bar a few minutes later, I commented to a good friend that he did not seem long for this world.
The next day he was found dead in his house. He was only 61, but looked much older. The truth is he had been smoking and drinking himself into a slow suicide for years now. During Covid he cleaned his act up and actually looked very good. But then the slow descent started all over again. I think it was when his mother died. He lived with her and had never married. All this is supposition of course, but a hinterland gives this story some substance.
So I decided to go to the funeral in the huge gorgeous church of my village that I have already photographed on several occasions. I descended to the village and did some shopping. Then I commiserated with a motley scattering of his friends. There was no point going up the mountain only to come down again so we took off to Ramon’s for a meal in his honour. It was absolutely fantastic, as was the wine.
Less so my apparel which consisted of loose white sweat pants and a low necked flowery top. And walking shoes. And no bra – I find a piece of elastic around my chest grossly uncomfortable and challenge any man to try it for a day! That said, I have come to learn that no one around here cares what you wear as long as you are not the undertaker…
At 6pm on the dot I went to the church. Alone. The gang as I shall call them had drunk too much and decided to go home and sleep it off. I however had never been to a Spanish funeral before and really wanted to say goodbye in a proper way. Years ago I wrote about another man who died before his time and as I was abroad I could not attend his burial. This time I could.
The undertakers were already outside the church, along with the priest. A young man dressed in a dark blue suit cheerfully greeted me. Goodness! He was my carpenter Adrian and it transpired that he also did funerals. His mother Teri was there as undertaker too and gave me a hug. Angel (her husband) is doing another funeral in Vall d’Alba, she informed me. So we are doing this one. It was a stroke of luck that they were there because I now had carte blanche to do what I love best. Take photos! Albeit with my iPhone which is long overdue for renewal.
The simple but beautiful coffin with an elegant bouquet of flowers was taken from the hearse and shakily carried onto its trolley in the doorway of the church. Felipe was no lightweight! At one point I thought that it was going to drop. But no, it made it and slowly glided down the centre aisle to the front of the church alter.
The huge space filled up somewhat. Not a great turn out, but also not bad. I’m sure I would never have many people send me off either and neither would I want this. Photography is my cover for actually being quite a recluse.
The priest made his habitual stance at the alter. Everyone went quiet and I silently walked up and down the outside aisles taking noiseless snaps. The sermon was brief; not surprisingly as the priest admitted that he had never met Felip. He was substituting for the village priest and I wondered whether the village priest was substituting for the priest of Vall d’Alba who might have been …. Silly thoughts, it does not matter.
So that took about 15 minute and everyone lined up to take Holy Communion, then poured out of the church, including the priest. I talked to him a little bit and informed him that Felip was a vividor. He looked shocked. Oh, I mean, he liked living it up, I clarified, realising that in Spain the same word is often used for many very different meanings. I looked it up later and it turns out it can mean a ‘bon viveur’, but usually ‘hustler’. Oh dear, I did put my foot in my mouth, but never mind.
The coffin had been placed in the hearse and it was slowly moving away so that we could follow it to the cemetery.
That took longer than the sermon, but not much. The motley array from lunch showed up and trailed the hearse in an old Mercedes, white roses included. The priest did not accompany us, but at the cemetery two helpers were on hand. This is the part that astounded me and was somewhat comic. The hole for Felip was on the top floor, so to speak. A sort of scaffolding had been set up in front of it.
Well, reader, getting the coffin onto the scaffolding and raising it to the correct level so it could slip in was a Laurel and Hardy affair. It was so heavy that it slipped every which way and even I went to see if I could help. But no, Teri in her undertaker’s outfit saved the day. The coffin rose and then went down. Another adjustment of the height was needed before Felip could rise again. Then the coffin was pushed and tilted until finally it slid in. The job was finished with a hard knock.
Well not quite finished. A discussion took place and the white roses from the Mercedes were piled inside the hole – it was a tight fit! Then a door of sorts was cemented into place after a few minor trims so that it fit properly. Finally a plague was glued on the middle of it. Job done!!! In the meantime someone lit 3 joss sticks and stuck them in a small hook below the shuttered hole.
Until this moment I had always thought that these little square doors had urns behind them, with ashes. Not huge bodies in lead lined coffins! Imagine the stink if all the doors were removed and the coffins opened? I felt a bit sick and turned around to walk back to the village with the rest of the mourners. But not before Teri came up to me and said, I have been asking Angel to call you for ages. We would like family photos done. I was very pleased. Any time I do photos it bounds me more with my new home. She was very pleased too because I said they would be free. Goodwill means more than a few euros to me.
Then I noticed an old friend of mine at the side of the rows of holes We linked arms and walked together to the village with our Felip stories. What transpired after this was a long Wake, also with the friends from the morning who had gone home to sleep and not attended the funeral.
All I can say is that Felip would have been very happy at his send off! Better in a bar than in a church lol.
Rest in Peace. Amen
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