Sometimes you just don't know people at all

Yesterday we went to Marion's funeral. It exceeded my most extreme expectations.

I knew a little about her family rift, but it turned out to be very little. Three of her seven children were there, and her eldest daughter could have been Marion herself - about six feet tall, white hair and the identical face. The only thing missing was the Welsh accent. She is about 75 years old, but Marion was 94.

The eldest daughter began by saying that she did not know much about her mother, which was slightly shocking in itself. She then reminisced about small remembered childhood events and places, finishing with the observation that her mother seemed not to be cut out for motherhood. At the beginning of her address, the door opened and an uncle walked in, apologising for his lateness.

Following the eldest daughter, the youngest stood up and read from a pre-prepared speech with a grim face. It consisted entirely of recriminations, and essentially accused Marion of ruining her life and the lives of her brothers and sisters. It seems that Marion found her children an irritating inconvenience, so left them all when they were quite young, going to live on her own away from them. She refused to see any of her many children, grandchildren and great grandchildren right up to the end. It was her choice to be alone, it seems.

The daughter touched on the subject of sexual abuse by their father, Marion's husband. All but one child was repeatedly abused by this man. The daughter mentioned that when she managed to get a conviction against her rapist father, instead of saying 'well done', Marion said something about causing a fuss. She did not seem to support her children in any aspect of their lives, and put them down at every opportunity.

The youngest son stood up and walked toward the coffin, then addressed the few people in the crematorium using a lengthy, pre-prepared speech. More recriminations, more heartfelt bitterness and regret with the wish that with Marion's death they may find peace from the torment of their childhood.

He read a passage entitled 'The Mother I Wished For'. It read like a poem, and listed all the virtues of motherhood. For each good and selfless quality, you understood that the opposite applied to Marion. He was tearful at times, but he was crying for himself, not his mother.

The finale was the diminutive humanist 'vicar' reading some passages about burying the past with the body, then it was all over.

Outside we thought better about giving them a couple of Marion's drawings having heard their speeches, and two of them actually said they would give all her artwork found in her flat to H.I. They didn't want them.

It was the sort of funeral that you only normally find in theatrical drama. It made a very refreshing change from the usual hypocrisy spouted at most memorial services. I thoroughly enjoyed it, if 'enjoy' is the right word. Put it this way - I would not have missed it.