Losing and Gaining

a family funeral

The funeral had been good. A life celebrated by four camps, it seemed: one side of the family, the other side of the family, colleagues and friends from childhood through Uni and into adulthood, and the third, up until that point, unknown side of the family. Certain great grandparents had died and remarried, and remarried again, leading to a very fractured family tree which led to some puzzlement, a lot of paper napkins and a pen before I almost figured out who was related to whom and how. It was like a jigsaw puzzle and I am sure there were pieces missing. The life celebrated was that of my much and enormously loved great aunt, who, because of these marriages and deaths and remarriages, was younger than Dad. It seemed appropriate that she had been a geologist given the layers of family strata there were, and all the cracks and fissures that were in it.

Carrie, Carolyn, Great Aunt, GA

I had traveled up through Wales on the back seat of my brother’s car - he was driving, and his wife Jane was sitting next to him. The three hours to get to Rhyl went by quickly as we ploughed through a couple of long and funny podcasts which we occasionally talked about or over. We met up with Dad, my step-mother Sue, my half-brother Jeremy and his wife Jayne, my half-sister Victoria, and our cousins Sally, Andy, Lisa, Isabelle, Maddy and Danielle. After a quick pint we headed to the crematorium, and the church service where different people in GA’s past gave eulogies, and my second cousin Danielle read a poem. I read a eulogy on behalf of the cousins with their collected GA Carolyn stories. I talked to people I had never met before and exchanged numbers and email addresses. After this event, where we looked over photos, tried to figure out who was related to whom, and celebrated the great many people who had come to share in the day, we made our way to the hotel. There hadn’t been time to check in before.

It wasn’t so cold for the last day in January, so I walked from the car to the hotel in my suit jacket, coat hanging over my arm, backpack over my shoulder. Great Aunt Carolyn had always traveled like that, with a backpack over her shoulder. She had usually worn long, colourful skirts, equally long, colourful scarves hanging down over her shoulders, and hiking boots; always ready for adventure. GA had told Dannie about a time when she had somehow wandered into war-torn Turkey and had flirted her way back out again. She was one of those rare people who could get away with doing that and not get harmed. There was this charm she had, a way of being with people. She met and chatted with, then, Prince Charles, now the King of England. She also drank some oil workers she encountered under the table. And she didn’t have time for fools, yet there was never drama around her, just good stories, and hearing these stories, I wondered if GA, in truth, worked for the CIA or MI5.

Some folks thought it were the Marlborough’s she smoked that killed her but it was an enlarged heart. Of course it was, she was the most forgiving and generous person we knew. When I was in my twenties and had smoked, Carrie had made fun of me after I’d brought a half-pint of beer to the table for her and a pint for myself. She took the pint, leaving the half for me and had said with a smile: “You smoke Marlborough Lights, you can drink the half.” Although I didn’t move up to regular Marlborough’s and continued smoking Lights for a few more years, I never bought GA a half pint of beer again.

GA as a toilet paper snow person

We checked into the hotel and made our way up to our rooms. A stubbed out cigarette butt was lying on the stairway carpet. After failing to turn on the lights I noticed a little key card drop box next to the door. When I placed the key card into it a light came on and I was greeted by a small, dark room. My family had told me Premier Inns were good, and I knew they had stayed in quite a few over the years, but this one was tired. The reception downstairs had been tatty, and looking into the restaurant it seemed unclean, and finding a staff member to check-in had been a process in itself. As I looked about the room, I saw scuffed walls, a chipped table, a broken looking A/C heating switch, the one flickering light I had managed to get on, and threw the bag onto the bed. Well, it was only to be one night and it wasn't too expensive. I pulled off my tie and emptied the pockets of my jacket onto the scratched up table. It was of the cheapest, hollow material and my keys sounded like crabs scuttling as they slid over the surface. I wondered if I turned the tv on, it would immediately show porn and decided not to find out. I showered and dressed in fresh clothes and headed out to meet the family at a pub down the road. Colin and Jane and I walked through the evening, seeing lights along the coast, a partial moon high in the sky. As we ambled along Jeremy and Jayne caught up so we found the pub together and entered. It was somewhat loud but in a friendly way, which felt welcoming rather than overpowering, and sat down with the rest of the family, already there. Vicky had arrived with Dad and Sue having driven there as had Lisa and Isabelle, Sally and Andy and their kids, Maddy and Danielle.

My sister-in-law Jane, and brother Colin heading to a pub in Rhyl where we met with other family members

It was the usual thing, drinking, eating, talking, remembering, appreciating not just GA, but each other as we all get on in years. I am the oldest of the cousins, although my cousin Sally, a good number of years younger than me, acts and behaves, and organizes and sorts things out way better than I can do. She was the one who was left in charge of the estate and funeral, although one of GA’s childhood friends did a lot to help as well. Her name is also Sue, but not related to my dad. Too many people with the same name. Sally - you are wonderful.

It was good to reconnect with family and discuss all sorts of things from investments to stories we would have liked to have heard more about from Carolyn. A trivia game started which we had turned down joining in as we thought we would be gone. Between us, however, we were able to unofficially answer most questions, and listened at the break to see how we did - pretty well, it turned out. We are a family filled with varied and often useless knowledge.

The same group who had found their way to the pub walked back to the hotel, but all together this time, passing drunks and scallywags along the seafront to make our way in through a side door. It seemed we were all exhausted from the driving, and the rest of the day, and because of an early train ride down to London the next morning I had booked, we had agreed to join up for an early breakfast. We all retired to our rooms.

I was the first down the next morning in our party, to be greeted by a very busy breakfast room filled with rowdy kids, some who appeared, from behaviour of the kids and the conversation of the adults, autistic. Later, when I met the couple in charge of looking after eight of the children, it was verified six were highly challenged. There was another large family there, and other families came down. It was chaotic and loud, but I found an empty dining space at the far end of the room and settled in there. As I was getting tea, a good strong cup of PG Tips, one of the workers came in, eyes glazed and shinning, shirt untucked. We nodded at each other as he stifled a yawn.

“Late night last night?” I asked.

“You could say that. I was out until four and had to get up at six to get here. I think I’m still drunk.”

“Better grab a cup of joe!” I tried to hide my astonishment at his revelation. Who tells a customer they were up until four in the morning and still pissed?

“Hair of the dog, more likely,” he told me. I do like honesty.

Family members came down and the days plans were discussed. There was laughter and jokes, there was familial ribbing and roasting; tea, coffee, juice was drunk; pastries consumed but the staff, who were supposed to take orders for the full breakfast were not seen, or when they were, the few workers there were were with the families and kids at the other end of the room or hiding in the kitchen. When the orders were eventually taken, I checked out to save time, bringing my luggage down from the room. The meals came back mostly right, although hashbrowns were missing from one order, the poached eggs were fried, and there was bacon instead of sausage, but my vegetarian breakfast was hot and tasted good. Being a family with a wonderful dry/wry sence of humour, we made light of the mistakes, and swapped what we could to make the orders closer to correct.

I bolted my food down and after hugs and farewells, threw my backpack over my shoulder and headed off to the railway station, a seven minute walk away. The sun was out and that was pretty much it for that Saturday morning. Me and the sun, and one other man walking his dog. The platform was almost empty, with about four people waiting for the train. I stood in the sun and let it warm me, and enjoyed taking in the history of the station, the pillars, the wooden decorated edging, the brick building itself, although the waiting room now had a great glass window in it, floor to ceiling: there was to be no hiding in there. The train came in on time and I climbed aboard, and I thought about the connections made, people met, family met, the shoddy room, the one staff member who was drunk from the night before, and about my great aunt and how forgiving she was, and how generous she was and thought that wouldn’t be a bad way to live.

Yes, they still have working phone boxes in places. Some are now ATM machines, some are still public phones, I saw one as a Little Library, and some, sadly, smell of urinals.

Text and images copyright Simon Brooks, 2025

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Simon