Final resting place

I wrote this article some time ago – two months previously, to be precise. Given the personal nature of the piece, I wasn’t sure whether or not it should see the light of day, but for better or for worse, and in the absence of anything else of note at the moment, here it is, warts and all. It begins on a rather damp and dismal day at the end of March.

On the final Wednesday in March, I made my first visit to Norwich since before the pandemic - October 2019 to be precise. Prior to then I had only made sporadic visits to the city, primarily whilst visiting my late father when he was residing in a care home in the small village of Gressenhall to the north of Dereham. Those visits mainly involved calling in at a couple of pubs on my way back to the station, and looking back there are only a handful of those, such as the Murderer’s and the Compleat Angler.

In the years preceding my parents decline in  health – physical for mum and mental for dad, I would drive up to Norfolk for the weekend - the county my folks had retired to. I would find a half decent bed and breakfast establishment or, better still, a pub, spend time with my parents during the day, and then retire for the evening to the B&B or pub I was staying at. This arrangement continued after mum passed away at the end of February 2015. A year or so later, my sisters and I took the difficult decision to move dad into a care home, due to the onset of Alzheimer's and the slow, but steady decline in his mental faculties. It then became easier to take the train to Norwich, followed by a bus, or a taxi to dad’s care home.

Dad sadly passed away in 2021, at the beginning of January, and whilst the cause of death recorded on the death certificate was stated as COVID, advancing Alzheimer's was almost certainly the real cause.  Apart from a brief visit in August 2020 where, because of COVID restrictions I'd only been able to talk to him through a half-open window, I hadn't seen dad since the autumn of the previous year. It was heartbreaking to see the deterioration in his health, brought on by the Alzheimer's, so in some respects his passing was a relief to all concerned.

In February of that year Eileen, Matthew and I drove up to Norfolk for dad's funeral. COVID restrictions we're still very much in force, which meant limited numbers at the funeral itself. In addition, as hotels, pubs, and restaurants were closed, there was no possibility of an overnight stay. Instead, it was a quick drive up to Norfolk for the ceremony, and then back to Kent. All this still makes me very angry, when hearing that serial liar, Boris Johnson defending his attendance at “works gatherings”, cake sharing and other activities that were quite blatantly contrary to the very laws his government imposed on us. Meanwhile those of us who had lost loved ones were unable to say goodbye properly or give them a proper send-off.

The interment of my parents ashes came about following discussions between myself and my two sisters. Neither mum nor dad had made any provision for where they wanted to end up, so to speak, and in fact I remember my mother flying off the handle when my younger sister asked her the question. This was totally uncalled for, although I think it was more a reflection on my mother’s fear of dying, than any real anger against her youngest daughter. After mum’s passing, we're aware that one or two people that my parents knew locally had been interned at Greenacres Woodland Burial Centre at Colney, on the outskirts of Norwich. As a result, we took the decision, with dad's blessing, to lay mum’s ashes to rest there, and in accordance with the Greenacre’s policy, that all memorials should be biodegradable, we had a wooden plaque carved in mum's memory, with space for dads details to be added when the time came. 

When that time did eventually come, my sisters and I took the decision that rather try and add dad’s details to the existing memorial, we would commission the original wood carver, to produce a new plaque, showing both mum and dads details. This was because when I had last visited Greenacre’s, in the spring of 2019, it was evident that after just four years the wooden memorial plaque had weathered quite badly and was starting to deteriorate. The new plaque was installed sometime towards the end of last year, and I promised to go and see it in situ. 

I had been waiting for the better weather, but it didn’t materialise, so with a few days off work I grabbed the bull by the horns, booked an Advance Return rail ticket from Tonbridge to Norwich. The idea was to combine visit to Colney, with a look around Norwich, taking in a few of the city's pubs, of course. The last occasion I'd had time to do this was in 2013, when I attended the CAMRA National AGM, held in the city's historic St. Andrews Halls.  After my late morning arrival, I jumped on a couple of buses which deposited me outside the entrance to the Woodland Burial Centre. It’s not at all easy trying to identify an individual plot in an area of woodland, however carefully it’s being managed, but fortunately I brought the plot references with me, and the helpful young man in the reception building, was able to guide me directly to the spot.

The setting itself was peaceful and beautiful at the same time, and I immediately felt at one with nature. There were wild daffodils growing everywhere, and I suspected at the time, if I was to return in May, the daffs would be replaced by bluebells. It was obviously an emotional moment, and after forwarding some photos to my sister in the United States, she replied that mum would be happy with that.

The tranquil setting of this woodland cemetery, with its carpet of wild daffodils, allowed me to reflect on the happy and untroubled childhood my parents had provided for me and my two sisters, and whilst I never really took the opportunity to thank them for this, I think that it’s only when you become older yourself, that you truly understand the importance of such things.