Dennis Pryor's funeral and wake
I was a little late getting to Dennis Pryor's funeral on Friday at Hollibones Funeral Parlour, in that the celebrant was already talking when I slipped in. I stood at the back until I spotted a seat next to David Greagg and slipped in there.
It was a relatively short funeral. A long-time family friend and painter gave the eulogy, Dennis's sons Mark and Ben read poetry, as did Kerry Greenwood (Dylan Thomas). One of Dennis's marriages slipped past the celebrant, which led one participant to hiss she was his second wife.
David, Mark and Ben were all pallbearers, the coffin being carried out to the sound of Monty Python's Always Look on the Bright Side of Life. (I believe the funeral was the first time I have knowingly seen Mark and Ben at the same place at the same time.)
I did not got to the internment. Walking back home, I seriously debated whether I had time to slip across town to Cathedral Square and Max Teichmann's funeral, but decided I really was not in a fit state to drive.
Had lunch at Pistacchio (bad idea to go to a wake on an empty stomach) and then went to Dennis' wake. Kerry had pasted a copy of my obituary of Dennis in the hallway and repeatedly told me what a fine obituary it was, how I had captured him.
Ate (Kerry had put on a fine spread), chatted, drank, listened a lot. Kerry told me she felt Dennis shoot past her into the aether and there was nothing of him left behind, no ghost or revenant. There was certainly no lingering feeling of his presence even though there were so many reminders of his past. There was a wide range of people at the wake, of all ages. David spent some time chatting to a rather pleasant goth-Wiccan lass. One could spot the former academic colleague's of Dennis, they were the socially awkward ones.
I particularly enjoyed looking at the various photographs laid out. One of the benefits of funerals is that you learn things about people you did not know. Dennis came from Brecon, in South Wales. His father owned and ran the local newspaper, his mother's brother (a minor painter, Garrett) lived with them.
Later, Kerry made the point about how being the ambulance after the tank that entered Belsen had a traumatic effect on the young Quaker, destroying his faith and haunting him for years. As Kerry said, you could see it in some of the photographs.
It was a good wake. Dennis would have enjoyed it all.
It was a relatively short funeral. A long-time family friend and painter gave the eulogy, Dennis's sons Mark and Ben read poetry, as did Kerry Greenwood (Dylan Thomas). One of Dennis's marriages slipped past the celebrant, which led one participant to hiss she was his second wife.
David, Mark and Ben were all pallbearers, the coffin being carried out to the sound of Monty Python's Always Look on the Bright Side of Life. (I believe the funeral was the first time I have knowingly seen Mark and Ben at the same place at the same time.)
I did not got to the internment. Walking back home, I seriously debated whether I had time to slip across town to Cathedral Square and Max Teichmann's funeral, but decided I really was not in a fit state to drive.
Had lunch at Pistacchio (bad idea to go to a wake on an empty stomach) and then went to Dennis' wake. Kerry had pasted a copy of my obituary of Dennis in the hallway and repeatedly told me what a fine obituary it was, how I had captured him.
Ate (Kerry had put on a fine spread), chatted, drank, listened a lot. Kerry told me she felt Dennis shoot past her into the aether and there was nothing of him left behind, no ghost or revenant. There was certainly no lingering feeling of his presence even though there were so many reminders of his past. There was a wide range of people at the wake, of all ages. David spent some time chatting to a rather pleasant goth-Wiccan lass. One could spot the former academic colleague's of Dennis, they were the socially awkward ones.
I particularly enjoyed looking at the various photographs laid out. One of the benefits of funerals is that you learn things about people you did not know. Dennis came from Brecon, in South Wales. His father owned and ran the local newspaper, his mother's brother (a minor painter, Garrett) lived with them.
Later, Kerry made the point about how being the ambulance after the tank that entered Belsen had a traumatic effect on the young Quaker, destroying his faith and haunting him for years. As Kerry said, you could see it in some of the photographs.
It was a good wake. Dennis would have enjoyed it all.