Sir Terry Pratchett
Sir Terry wrote and read part of the Richard Dimbleby lecture last night. It was a moving and very powerful performance as the writer is suffering from early-onset Alzheimer’s Disease.
His plea for a right to die, when he chooses is summed up with this last sentence of the lecture.
Let us consider me as a test case. As I have said, I would like to die peacefully with Thomas Tallis on my iPod before the disease takes me over and I hope that will not be for quite some time to come, because if I knew that I could die at any time I wanted, then suddenly every day would be as precious as a million pounds. If I knew that I could die, I would live. My life, my death, my choice.
He is right and everybody should see or read his lecture from last night. The Guardian has an edited version here.
A Scattering
I’ve never been a great one for poetry, although at school my poetry was better than me prose. But that didn’t mean much.
But I was pleased to see that the Costa Prize has been won by Christopher Reid for his book, A Scattering
It is about the death of his wife, the actress Lucinda Gane.
I heard part of it being read on Radio 5 and I was moved.
It is actually refreshing that a book about such a dark and often untalked about subject should with a prize. Things like this will make life for those left behind easier in some cases.
A Funeral
As you get older, you always seem to go to more and more funerals. They are changing though. Or at least those in the Church of England are, as I have no experience of a funeral service in another religion.
In some way I first sensed the change when Alex died. I had known her for some years and it was on her recommendation that my late wife went to the oncologist, Professor Davidson. Alex, a confirmed atheist or at least an agnostic, had planed the funeral with the vicar, who happened to be married to her best friend. Despite being a funeral, it was in some ways a joyous occasion, with popular hymns and songs, everybody in colours and the ladies in hats. The vicar even blasphemed from the pulpit.
When my wife died, she gave her body to medical science and we didn’t have a funeral at all at the time. We just had a gathering at the house and those that wanted to said a few words. It worked for us.
Yesterday, I went to Christine’s funeral, who was a cousin of my late wife. Not sure what the relationship is, but she came to my wife’s memorial service in Southwark Cathedral. In fact she sat next to me. So in addition to everything else, she deserved my respect and I felt it was essential that I go.
The funeral service was in Minster Abbey on the Isle of Sheppey. I had actually attended two other funerals there of Christine’s mother and sister.
It is a lovely old parish church, founded in the 660s, that is one of the unknown gems of England. Sheppey is not an island noted for very much, but a trip across the bridge from the M2 is worth it, just to view this church.
The church was packed and it was a good service, with a wonderful speech from her sister. It must help friends and family, when so many people come and I would hate to be a lone mourner at a funeral.
It was followed by a cremation at Bobbing. Crematoria of my past, tend to be soulless and depressing places. But this one, which was opened only a few years ago, had been designed to make the passing of someone dear to you, a better experience. That is if there is one!
I shall remember the chapel with the sunlight streaming through the window, until the day I die.
The Death of Robert Enke
Robert Enke was Germany’s leading goal-keeper.
But he committed suicide by throwing himself under a train yesterday.
Why?
Last night, a program by Rosa Monckton was shown on BBC1. It was all about the pressures of caring for disabled children. It was heartrending and my late wife and I count ourselves lucky, that we didn’t suffer more than the odd teenage problems with ours.
Robert and his wife, had a child with a severe heart problem, who died in 2006.
My wife was a family barrister and she had seen many times how such a set of circumstances could destroy a family. She felt that very few ever survived intact.
Even one as successful and financially secure as Robert Enke.
My thoughts go out to his family and friends.
The British Way of Military Death
I have a strong sense of history and want to try to make sure that we learn from the past and don’t make the same mistakes again.
I first noticed when we went to the cemeteries on the River Kwai, that every British grave has a personal message. There were a lot of Dutch graves on the Kwai, but they were plain and identical except for the name. I found the same messages at immaculate cemeteries in the Gambia and on the Somme.
And now we have the respect shown at Wootton Bassett, a town through which all the British victims of Afghanistan pass on their final way home.
There are some things in this country that we do very, very well.
Farewell – David Shepherd
British umpires tend to be characters and there was none greater than David Shepherd.
He was also a very good umpire, beloved by fans and players alike.
Farewell – Norman Painting
Norman Painting, the voice of Phil Archer has died.
My late wife would have been very sad, as she was an avid listener to the programme. It’s funny, but I used to listen, but about ten or fifteen years ago, I gave up on it. It was one of the few things we disagreed about. She always wanted to listen and I didn’t.
Three Men who Gave Pleasure
I always read the obituary columns of the Times. Yesterday’s was interesting in that the three featured, although different, had all gave us a lot of pleasure.
Keith Floyd had been a very unusual celebrity chef and had perhaps departed in a way that fitted his persona to a tee, with a heart attack after a very good lunch. We need more people like him on television. Brilliant, but flawed!
Brilliant, but flawed and from the obituary, it would appear he shared Floyd’s financial acumen, could also be applied to Troy Kennedy Martin. But he did give us the iconic Z-Cars and wrote the script for that thoroughly British film, The Italian Job. It is a pity that a lot of his other and possibly better work never made the screen, small or large.
And then there was an obituary for Patrick Swayze. I have never seen his two most famous films, Dirty Dancing and Ghost, but I do remember him in that excellent film, City of Joy. From his obituary he seems to have had his flaws, but he will be someone, who will be missed by many. My thoughts go out to his widow, who was his wife of nearly forty years.
I know how she feels.
Kentish Lamb
This is a tale that probably should have been handled better.
If we are going to eat meat, then we should educate children about where it comes from.
Perhaps not go as far as my youngest who spent several summers in the Hunt Kennels, cutting up animals for the hounds. What everybody does forget though is that the Hunt has traditionally been the receptor of all the dead animals of the countryside. You have a horse that needs to be put down and it’s more humane to do the deed in a field on a sunny day and then give the carcase to the Hunt, rather than submit the animal to all the stress of going to the slaughterhouse.
Life is hard and we all have to die someday. But when that day comes, death should be as painless and without stress as possible.
I’m afraid that the laws on abbatoirs brought in by the EU, don’t make that process any better for animals, as they often have to travel miles before death, because so many have closed. And when it comes to transporting animals, such as sheep, miles to slaughter in Southern Italy or Greece, I’m totally against it. It’s actually cheaper to transport them as carcases, because you get three times as many animals on the truck. So you need to refrigerate, but you only need a third of the drivers.
The best beef I ever tasted was illegal.
Twenty years ago, a local farmer used to kill his own cattle and then butcher them in his kitchen. He just took the bullock into the field, gave him some grass and then shot him. No stress and the meat was superb.
But then he was a real countryman, who has forgotten several times more about life in Suffolk, than I know now.
The Anonymous Widower 