A fellside send-off

Black Coombe in the Western Lake district, behind the churchyard, where we buried G, near his family home. The sun sparkled over the Irish sea, the beck trickled behind us, and Black Coombe positively glowed. I can't think of a more pictureque location for a country churchyard, nor a better place for a winter burial.

G's daughter was one of the pall bearers, as were his three tall sons and two other males. G had been a tall, strong man although his long term illness had depleted him greatly. Even so, the pall bearers struggled, and I pondered the paradox: there's the honour of being asked to be a pall bearer, and the dread of carrying out the duty, because it is so final. A last respect, when one is already bowed down with the loneliness of losing a friend or father.

G died rather unexpectedly, just before Christmas. He had been ill for years, but had only visited the the hospital for a routine check up. They admitted him for a few days, but allowed him to go home to die, with his family around him. He was an old friend of CleanSteve and Pip and Mary, who travelled up with us, as well as Graham, who died two and a half years ago. If there is another place, G and Graham will be sharing a large laugh and a drink together now. If there's no drink there, they'll go on somewhere else.