Wherein we hope the dead have a sense of humour.

September 28th, 2009 |Published in Uncategorized | Link to this Post| 5 replies

So, you know when I said I should rename this blog, ‘stupid things I do’, well this weekend I surpassed myself.  Truly, a combination of flawless timing and a giant foot shoved so far into my mouth that I could taste my ankle, meant I will forever be hiding from the British art establishment.

Liz and Gareth came to stay, which was lovely, and not at all the humiliating part.  The weather was so beautiful yesterday that we thought we would go for a walk.  Where else do you walk in North London but around Highgate Cemetery? Seriously, don’t look like that, it’s a fascinating place, why wouldn’t you want to walk around a cemetery that has a giant statue of Karl Marx’s head?  See!  Sunny day, giant head, perfect!

So we wander around, and then we come across this headstone.

Liz and I consider it, there are a couple of people stood near us, an older lady and a man in his 30’s.  We stand with out heads cocked to one side, Liz says, ‘does what it says on the tin’, I say ‘yep, it does that…’, I take a photo, I walk closer to it and in the process the older lady moves to the side to let me get closer.  The inscription reads, ‘Patrick Caulfield CBE:  Deeply Loved’, he died in 2005, I can’t take a photo of that.  I turn to Liz, “He was deeply loved!”, I say, “and now he’s DEAD”.

The older lady moves back into her position at the foot of the grave, she turns her head towards us, she looks up and says, very quietly, “I had to do it, it was what he wanted”.

Suddenly I feel light headed, my mouth is trying to curl into one of those dreadful smiles that appear when the absolute worst things happen and all sense of what to do next abandons me.  I say yes, I’m sure you did.  She says that she added ‘Deeply Loved’, and the small container for the red roses she has placed there, to soften it, because it was very hard to do, but he designed it, it was what he wanted.

We nod, the man standing behind us smiles, he says he thinks it shows a marvellously warm sense of humour, the lady visibly relaxes, I catch the faintest possibility of a disgusted look in my direction, but either that’s my paranoia or she masterfully suppresses it.  She says that she’s glad that the man thought that, that her husband was indeed, very funny.

We turn to walk away, Liz instinctively holds my hand, we’re caught between embarrassment for ourselves and sadness for her.  Of all the times to stop there, of all the moments to be flippant about something like that.  Yes, a person who chooses that headstone probably expects that sort of reaction, but who wants to be the person who gives voice to it, while his widow stands next to you.

John catches up with us.  By this point I’ve begun to cry, I’m not sure why, I felt mortified, I didn’t want to be the rude girl who made a grieving woman’s day harder.  I felt relief that I wasn’t the widow by the grave, and then I felt guilty for feeling relieved.  John asked me if I wanted to go back and speak to her and my initial reaction was no, absolutely not, but I looked back, saw her standing there, and suddenly I had to.

We walked back down the hill, the day seemed oppressively hot, I straightened my face, and I apologised.  I said I was so sorry for being disrespectful, and that I would never, ever have wanted to offend her.  She was incredibly gracious and elegant in her acceptance of my apology, we spoke for a couple of minutes, he had a beautiful funeral she said, with hundreds and hundreds of guests, and a jazz band.

Later on, at the end of the day, safe at home, I realised that the whole time, through the walk, the terrible moment, the tears and the apology, I was wearing a t.shirt that said; “I didn’t slap you, I highfived you, on your FACE”, and that, thank god, made me smile.