Today was the funeral of Jimmy's father. There's a do going on down the pub, but I just had one pint and left.
Very impressive turnout - must have been nearly two hundred people there, particularly impressive for someone of 85. In fact, one chap was stopped by a passer-by and asked if it was someone famous. The procession of cars from Faithful Virgin to West Norwood Cemetery brought the whole of Norwood to a standstill. Of course, Jimmy and his sister and brothers and nieces were upset (I'm sure the sons and nephews were, too, but they aren't going to show it).
It was very strange seeing Jimmy's brother, Tony. I hardly know him at all. He turned up late for the Mass, so I didn't see him until on the way out. I had known in advance what would happen, but it was still a shock to see him standing there in the church, each arm handcuffed to a prison warder. Then, I was in John and Jackie's car, waiting for the procession to start off, and the prison officers escorted Tony across the road to the prison van. Needless to say, all the motorists in the opposite direction, and all the people on the bus all gawped. It's the sort of thing you see on the telly but rarely in real life.
At the cemetery, they let Tony be handcuffed just to one prison officer. Terry offered him a cigarette - ever seen anyone try to light a cigarette when handcuffed? And we shook hands, which was strange. After the burial, most people hung around talking for ages, because the longer we lingered, the longer Tony got outside - they weren't letting him go to the pub. There were four officers in all. I was chatting to a couple of them, asking them if do many of these. "No, thank god."
The flowers included a wreath in the shape of an Irish harp, Danny Boy played during Communion, and the final prayer over the coffin was
May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face;
the rains fall soft upon your fields and until we meet again,
may God hold you in the palm of His hand.
Jimmy placed a tricolour in the grave, and the children and grandchildren threw in roses. Seven children - two dead; twelve grandchildren, including two who have come over from Australia; and four great-grandchildren. Some life - from driving De Valera in the 40s, to selling paraffin and ice cream to second hand furniture. Some life.
