THE newspaper you are reading right now features in some of my earliest memories.
Throughout my childhood I was sent to the shop every morning to get a crusty bap, two litres of milk and an Irish News. My stepfather would read the first few pages and then declare loudly that he was opening the family notices to see if he was dead yet.
I’ve told him he can rest assured that when the day comes for him to wear his ‘wooden onesie’, I’ll dutifully open the page where his name features and declare to his spirit: “Look, Pops – you’ve finally made it!”
My friend’s grandad would look at The Irish News every day before donning his ‘funeral coat’ and attending the Requiem Mass of literally anyone in the parish. We would joke at the time that he was a professional mourner. However, with age and wisdom we realised that he was simply looking for a reason to have a wee drink and a sandwich in the local pub. Sure who can say no to a free pint of the black stuff and a vol-au-vent filled with chicken soup?
I never realised that our Irish approach to death rituals was any different to the rest of the world until an English friend overheard a conversation about a wake at university and asked if she could come along to one with me, because it sounded “cool”. I know they say death is inevitable, but looking forward to a funeral is pushing it too far even for our standards. When I berated her, she adjusted her request to “when someone really old and prepared dies and it’s not too sad”.
I tried to explain that regardless of the deceased’s age there will always be people left behind devastated, but it got me thinking about the phenomenon that has occurred unfailingly at every wake I’ve attended. Even with the most tragic of passing there comes a time – usually the second or third day – when stories are shared and miraculously the tears turn to laughter as we hold vigil over the body.
The fact that we often bring our dead home to wake them was another surprising detail for my pal and I was equally horrified when I found out that she had never seen a corpse, despite having lost loved ones. Apparently, the body is delivered to the church on the day of the funeral, which can be anywhere up to two weeks after the person has died. This blew my mind: “Do you mean to tell me that you’ve never hurriedly moved a sofa and blitz-cleaned a living room in preparation for the undertakers bringing the coffin in?”
Despite the fact that it may look odd to an outsider, I’m proud of the way my culture handles death with such grace and efficiency. In just a few short days we host, toast, then post them into the earth – or roast them.
It may seem irreverent to stand over an open coffin eating an egg-and-onion sandwich but essentially the wake is about bringing people together to offer comfort and companionship in a time of grief, and we can’t have tea and sympathy without finger food.
We don’t shy away from the subject of death either. Whether that is a result of having faith, fear or simply being forthright, who knows?
I attended the wake of an elderly man recently and noticed a little boy standing by the coffin. As I placed a Mass card underneath, I asked: “Oh son, is your granda sleeping?” He stared at me like I wasn’t wise and said: “No, he’s dead.” I gave him a quid for sweets and promptly left, thinking the child would make a good oncologist given that he had no trouble at all delivering bad news.
When my paternal grandfather died and he was brought home to be waked, an older couple came to the house, had a cup of tea, then walked up to his coffin before looking to each other and saying: “I don’t know him, do you?” It transpired neither of them knew him, so they had a sandwich and left. I love telling that story because it is so quintessentially Irish that it never fails to make me laugh.
The Irish wake is a phenomenon in itself. Sometimes we sing songs, and many envy the corpse who cannot hear. We often tell funny or heartwarming anecdotes until the atmosphere becomes a mix of sorrow and joy, honouring both the loss and the memories of good times shared.
Regardless of what happens when you wake me, just make sure I’ve my make-up on and there’s a good selection of biscuits on the go or I’ll come back and haunt everyone. If I get a turnout like Bobby Storey I would be absolutely delighted!
It may seem irreverent to stand over an open coffin eating an egg-and-onion sandwich but essentially the wake is about bringing people together to offer comfort and companionship in a time of grief