And I will hear, though soft, you tread above me

I remember being about 5 or 6 when it occurred to me one day that I hadn’t actually grazed my knee for a little while and I wondered why that was.  It was of course because that’s where I was in my life at that time and random fallings over were now being countered by having learnt a bit more about balance and paying a little more attention to both ground conditions and speed of travel.  Then what happens is that a bucket full of years flies by at the speed of light and I am now at an age when I find myself vicariously encountering death rather more frequently.  It’s the way of things.

One of our family friends recently passed away having lived in Spain for many years.  I must say it came as a bit of a surprise to Shirley and me to hear how quickly the body was taken away to be cremated, quite unceremoniously as I understand it, leaving the family to sort out their own arrangements from thereon in.  Some might think that harsh and inappropriate but, not being of a particularly (as in not at all) religious disposition, I have to say that this all sounded pretty sensible to me.  Having attended a few cremations over the years I am always left with two over-riding impressions.  Firstly how empty were those words uttered by the primary elected speaker, whether it be vicar or celebrant, who probably had never even met the deceased person let alone known them.  Secondly how horrible it is for the family and friends to see that highly polished box with its shiny metal trimmings disappear behind a curtain creating the impression (incorrect of course) that it and its contents were headed just at that moment to its fiery destruction.

With all of this in mind therefore the principle expounded by the cremation industry in its relentless stream of TV advertising was making a lot of sense.  Get the perfunctory bit done and then have a bit of a do afterwards.  I say the principle rather than the adverts themselves, however, which must surely be amongst the most toe-curling examples ever (and I can remember ‘shake n vac’).  Anyway, just as I was settling into the idea and thinking of imaginative ways in which ‘my’ ashes might be cast over some well-trodden fairway without being blown out of bounds I made a discovery.  Natural burial grounds.

I am the only son of a farmer “read my blog”  and the green of fields has always meant more to me than the grey of concrete jungles.  The idea therefore of ending up in a natural, ‘semi-agricultural’ environment suddenly became very appealing.  Whilst something in the back of my mind had heard of them I hadn’t really given these natural burial grounds much thought to that point.  Unlike the TV adverts that is where it would seem that funerals, funeral plans and security systems are pretty much par for the course in jolly, every-day chit chat.  I hadn’t realised.  Anyway now I knew about them and I was thinking about it.  Job done, surely?  Well maybe, or maybe not.

Never one to pass up the opportunity of making improvements (ask Shirley) why not go fully agricultural I started thinking?  Many people apparently want to know about the legality and feasibility of being buried in their garden – my mum for one.  In with her dogs she says would suit her well.  If you were to investigate further you would find that there is, in fact, very little that would stop you from doing this.  Speaking as a chartered valuation surveyor, however, I have to say I’m not fully buying into the idea … mum.  What about agricultural land though as a final resting place?  They’re talking now about re-using existing grave yard space (I shudder to think) but what about those 21 million acres of agricultural land in England alone (and that’s excluding woodland)?  I routinely drive or walk these days through what I personally think is some of the most spectacularly beautiful countryside in the world, of its kind anyway, in the Quantock hills and I’m wondering if maybe that would be a better bet for me.  I have mentioned that I am not a religious person and, I have to say, neither am I a particularly sociable one.   The reality of joining an afterlife community of perhaps around 700 per acre (which is apparently what even natural burial grounds expect to see) was therefore not entirely what I would have wanted in a perfect world.  This new plan, however, could potentially be very different.  We have all needed and been appreciative of our NHS from time to time but, call me precious if you will, I was thinking more about going private for this one.

Without raising any of the specific ‘issues’ that seem to have become attached to this idea of being buried ‘in a field’ then (and I’m always happy to discuss my views on this with anyone interested enough to ask the question) here is my plan on which I am now set.  My aim is to first of all find a farmer owning a stunning piece of land that would suit my purpose and to do a deal with him or her.  Farmers always love a deal.  That might well be somewhere not so far from where I now live, or maybe have lived at some point.  Then again I’m not entirely sure if location even comes into it at all.  I’m thinking more about bucolic beauty here wherever that may be found across our green and pleasant land.  If anyone wants to come and visit they will know where I am and beauty is beauty wherever it may be.  Once in a blue moon would be quite enough I think rather than them feeling under any emotional pressure to make it into some sort of routine.  I would fully expect any and all of my tribe to have much better things to be doing with their lazy Saturday afternoons than having a one-way conversation with me. 

Once I’ve found this plot and done the deal I do think that it will give me some sort of comfort over my remaining years to know where my erstwhile self will be for eternity, however long that may be.  Maybe it will be a meadow or grazing land of some description or maybe even in the unplanted strip at the edge of some field of gold.  Wherever it is I shall make sure that there is provision for a bench of some description so that any of my people who have seen fit to come and visit on occasion can sit in comfort and just enjoy the beauty of it all.  The peace as well maybe unless of course there’s a combine at work.  That bench would be my only ‘monument’ but, unlike most monuments, it would have a very useful and practical purpose.  I would make sure also that the plot was big enough to perhaps accommodate certain others in the future who may have loved me when I was here whether they be of the two or four-legged varietal.

Call this notion a pauper’s grave if you will but I think that would be missing the point entirely.  For one thing I’m not expecting this plot to be given to me by any matter of means.  Far from it if it’s as beautiful a spot as I am planning and I fully anticipate paying rather more than the TV adverts are alluding to with their corporate oven conveyor belts and tight-arsed, money-saving agenda.  And if the farmer gets a bit of a windfall whilst carrying on his or her business totally undisturbed by me or my occasional visitors then this is a win-win situation in my book.