There were about sixty of us gathered in the old church in Brousses to say goodbye to Joseph, pretty much everyone with the exception of the guy in shorts and a black tee shirt that said in red letter “Adidas Since 1949″ all about the same age as Joseph. From the pews around me there was a faint door of naphthalene from dark suits and dresses long stored in closets and only taken out for special events. And as the ancient congregation creaked to their feet in response to the slow progress of the equally ancient priest there was the occasional clatter of a walking stick hitting the flagstones of the church floor. All the responses to the priests sung prayers were by the three ladies in the front row, their spouses Jaques, Charles, Benoit having previously preceded them to speak directly with their creator.
Joseph’s Funeral – 05 July 2015
When I started visiting this corner of France 10 plus years ago Joseph was one of the first people I met and that summer he welcomed myself and my children by making us the best cassoulet I have ever enjoyed. Joseph was original in many ways, he was a retired one legged farmer, he lost his leg and fiancee one sunny summer day when his friend made a mistake with the hay bailing machine. He lived on his farm with his widowed brother in law Jeannot who had been married to Joseph’s sister. For some reason Joseph took a shine to me and would invite me for a simple supper at his home on the farm and then we would watch a rugby match, his favourite sport on TV. Joseph and I would be in the kitchen watching rugby and Jeannot his brother in law would be in the living room watching a quiz show and since they were both somewhat deaf, and for comfort had removed their hearing aids, both TVs would be turned up very loud.
At the end of the service the four pall bearers, more “cost effective” than six, who had carried Joseph’s coffin into the church, with an effort hoisted him to their shoulders and slow marched him out to the hearse. As they passed by it occurred to me that the job description for a professional pall bearer must be one that contains a specific height as a requirement. Granddad cannot be carried out at a list.
We drove to the graveyard in Villaret where Josephs family has a family tomb and as I arrived the pallbearers were setting up low stands on which they placed the coffin before the grave, and family and friends read a few prayers and said some words of appreciation for our friend. After that three pall bears slid the coffin into the open front of the sarcophagus, it sat maybe 80 centimetres above ground and as they paused and ran a substantial rope through the last two handles of the coffin it it gradually sank at least a similar distance below ground. Watching from a distance I puzzled that as it was lowered first the front end of the coffin did not catch but slid smoothly down out of view and the rope was shaken and withdrawn.
All was revealed when to my surprise, clad in workman overalls, the fourth pall bearer popped up out of the front of the sarcophagus. I hope he is paid extra, or maybe they draw straws, as many of these graves contain multiple family members.
Every year no matter where I was traveling, the US, Canada, Vietnam, Ireland the Philippines I would call my friend Joseph on 6 December, his birthday, he was my friend and I loved him.
I hope that wherever I am on 6 December each year I think of him and remember how kind he was to me a stranger.
