Thanatorium

Churchwarden Judith drove me in her SUV to today's funeral. It was good to have here there to distribute the service booklet and hymn sheets. As she arrived to collect me, there was a second call in English from the funeral directors confirming next Monday's service at San Miguel. The first call had been in Spanish, so  the man had to get an anglophone colleague to ring back on his behalf. Somehow in my early learning days in Geneva, I'd gotten by with my funny schoolboy French, but now I don't have even that advantage, and realise what a challenge this must be to those working in far flung places with less accessible languages.

Unfortunately, there were two possible funeral centres in the vicinity of Velez Malaga. Ours was the Axarquia Thanatorium - the one Judith didn't know about and hadn't visited before, so we missed the turning which figured in the instructions given me the day before, and drove to one the other side of the town centre first. Fortunately we'd started out with time in hand and arrived with ten minutes to spare.

The Axarquia Thanatorium is located in a commercial industrial area, amidst car showrooms and the suchlike. The roundabout turnoff also has a sign for the Axarquia hospital (sanatorium?), so it's not far to go when making final arrangements. The place itself opens on to a small forecourt decked with seasonally cropped plane trees, then straight on to an access road for several other commercial outlets. For the number of businesses in the street parking is inadequate. It stinks of bad local planning. We had to drive around the block, park on a pavement and make the past three hundred metres with indecent haste to be there on time, all of which set my heart pounding a bit.

The warehouse sized building has a huge marble decked foyer with seating, and funeral chapels off-set down corridors. People were milling around inside and outside, and information had to be hunted for, but we soon made contact with the widowed husband who took us to our chapel to meet the choir and get ourselves ready for action. The chapel seated about sixty with the fifteen strong choir all standing at the back. In the absence of an organ, singing would be unaccompanied.

The casket was a polished oblong box affair, with a hinge down one side, a lock with a key in it on the other to facilitate viewing the body if requested. The women of the family had made their own flower arrangements with the best of blossoms from the garden at home, and there was a framed photograph with them. The altar behind was set up for a funeral Mass if required, and on the 'north' side of altar was a life sized statue of the Virgin of Sorrows gazing towards the casket, looking down upon the deceased, should the lid be open. All carefully considered for those needing such a resource. There was also a permanent Paschal Candle, and this I made sure was lit. By the time everyone was in the chapel, none of the officials were in sight. Not that I would have been able to speak to them. It's fairly rare to find an English speaker in such a setting.

Once the chapel doors had been closed to shut out the noise from the foyer, I could make myself easily heard in a room full of seventy five people. The choir sang movingly a couple of pieces requested from their regular repertoire by the family. With the family's agreement I led everyone in singing 'All things bright and beautiful', rendered with great gusto. In the absence of funerary officials, I wasn't sure how the end would happen, so after the blessing, I led the next of kin outside, then the congregation slowly poured out. Once it was quiet and only a few family members remained to collect the flowers and photograph, the casket was wheeled away informally, quietly and things naturally came to a close. I learned that cremation would happen latter, not on site but privately without ceremony over at Almunecar.

Thankful that all had gone as well as it could, we left for home, there being no after-service reception on this occasion. On the street nearby we met Clare on her way to the local medical centre, to see if she could get treatment for the sinusitis which has been plaguing her since we arrived. Fortunately, she was able to see one of the emergency medical team and obtain medication with little difficulty, despite possible communication problems - always a nightmare when it comes to describing symptoms to someone with whom you do not share a mother tongue. But all's well that ends well.