Freeze Dried

Neither of us have seen anything quite like this bizarre weather. We are not complaining that it is unseasonably dry after last summer's sogginess but we are amazed by the weeks of relentless NE cold wind. We used to get NE winds in North Kent, of course, but generally only for a few days. I think I am correct in saying that we had our much trumpeted drought from Valentine's Day round to early March (19 days) and then just a few days of wet before this NE wind arrived on 9th March. That has now blown almost continuously for the 3 weeks since, bringing plenty of clear skies, bitter, frosty nights and just very occasional dust-like frozen snow.

The soil is dry enough to raise dust and what small amount of water there is in the soil is frozen, so unavailable to plants. The poor things are suffering frost/wind-burn like you would not believe, even the known drought-tolerant Mediterranean herbs like Rosemary and some hardy species like Verbena bonariensis (Purple verbena) and perennial wallflower. All the new growth, encouraged into motion by the warmth of our false spring is frazzled, curled and dead like the worst drought. It is one of those things - we assume the plants will recover and produce some new growth from still-dormant axial buds when a proper, more honest spring comes along, thawing the small amount of water that is here already and supplying a top-up.

So, yesterday we completed out dutiful paying of respects to the late James Harrinton. We were off down to the big, drafty, unheated church in Loughglynn for the service, which turned out to be a full Mass (I gather this is unusual for Holy Saturday). The church was packed with maybe 300 folk. We saw John Deere Bob in there sitting away to one side at the back, and we were joined in our pew by neighbour, Una C. I have my first Irish cold bug so I feel very bunged up and moopy, and sitting at the back of this church for an hour had me chilled down to the kidneys. Liz got on OK in a woolen suit and the vintage mink coat (those two thicknesses of 'cloth' even made the pew feel comfortable!) but we were both relieved when it was over and we could shuffle outside into the thin sunshine.

In matters of etiquette I take my cue from JD Bob here, and he had his black woolly 'Thinsulate' hat back on his head within seconds of stepping out into the car-park, so I did too. Also, he was not going out to the grave yard with the hearse and procession, so we took that as permission to also depart and get back into the warm, light the range, walk dogs, do shopping and, in Liz's case get into 'Domestic Goddess' mode baking and food prepping for our guests the next day, now today of course.

Today we are hosts to 2CV acquaintances John and Carol Mellor. I vaguely recognise John from 2CV events gone by, from his pictures in Facebook, but do not know them in any real sense. However, John is organising and fronting up a holiday tour 2CV convoy (They call them 'Raids' in 2CV land) for his Bristol-based 2CV club local group (The Bath Tub Club) in Summer all up and down the West of Ireland and is over here this Easter weekend to 'recce' the route. We saw his notices in the club magazine and, as their route is passing through Connemara, an hour or so away, we decided to offer our house and grounds as a port-in-the-storm, respite from bad weather if they get it, warm dry place to recover, fix broken cars etc. John is delighted with this and, although he agrees the official route is a way off here, has accepted the offer to call by on his recce to get fed and possibly stay overnight. We are doing him slow roasted lamb and assorted other bakery etc. Should be fun and nice to meet some new friends.

Looking So Sharp?

One for my non-Irish readers but one which has amazed me since I have been 'over here' - Funerals are MASSIVE. When a funeral takes place, at least in the rural areas EVERYBODY goes - the whole village and for miles around. Everybody who is even remotely connected to the departed. It is just part of the culture. It is what you do, what is expected and how you have to show suitable respect to all those in your local area. In my 55 years so far I have probably been to no more than half a dozen funerals. John Deere Bob, our near neighbour has probably been to around 3 or 4 a month for as long as we have lived here and presumably for most of his life. Driving through the local towns and villages I am amazed at how often we come upon an obviously BIG funeral - scores of parked cars lining the streets around the church or cemetery and every church with a huge car park, maybe 40-50 spaces or so. There are whole websites for death notices and all the papers and local radio stations do big sections on funeral details.

With tongue in cheek, when I moved here Liz passed me a superbly amusing book, "How to be Irish (uncovering the curiosities of Irish behaviour)" by David Slattery ( Orpen Press, ISBN 978-1-871305-24-1, pub 2011). This very funny book gives lovely insights into what makes the Irish tick and has a long and detailed chapter on the etiquette around funerals. It covers the important stages of the process. First the corpse is 'laid out' and 'reposes' either at the house or in the funeral home. Second is the 'removal to the church' where the coffin is processed from funeral home to church. The next day will be the funeral service and burial (or cremation, but normally burial in rural parts; the nearest crematorium may be as far away as Dublin). David Slattery also divides the funeral 'guests' into levels of importance a bit like celebrities, the Immediate family being 'A-list mourners', wider family and close friends being 'B-list' and so on down to 'D-listers'. Today and tomorrow we are definitely D-list mourners.

Half a dozen doors down the lane lived a gent named James Harrinton, 100 years old when we moved in and 101 this year, living with retired nurse daughter whom we guess will be in her 70's. James (Jim) passed away on Wednesday evening and when JD Bob phoned us to tell us we took that as a heavy hint that our attendance might be expected. We have never met the chap, so we'd be D-listers but knew we had to be there.

The 'repose' and removal were this evening down in the local village of Loughglynn so we ate fairly early and then scrubbed up and headed out. I still have an old dark business suit which almost fits, plenty of shirts, a black tie and shiny shoes. Liz has a nice black Jaeger two-piece, dark tights and black shoes, plus the vintage mink coat.

We arrived to find a huge queue waiting to go through the funeral home - there are two doors and you shuffle through the rooms and corridors, pay your respects to the departed (open coffin) and then pass along a line of seated relatives (15-20) shaking hands and mumbling 'Sorry for your trouble' to each. Then you shuffle out past the book where you write name and townland. On any other day than Good Friday, Liz tells me you adjourn to the pub to await the 'removal' at (in this case) 20:30 pm. Pubs are shut here on Good Friday though and there is a bitter NE wind blowing up the main street so the consensus seemed to be that you can hop back into your car and drive home, possibly returning for the removal or maybe waiting for tomorrow and the service and burial.

So that was that, for now. As I said, a lot of this is about respect between village folk, so we were pleased that we had a chance to sign an on-line condolences list, and to sign the real book at the Home, plus that we were seen by Mike the Cows and then, on the way home, by Tony who keeps the local shop/post office. Tony was amazed and delighted with us, saying to Liz that I "shine up well" and saying to Liz that he "had never seen her looking so sharp". Tony (and his wife and post office lady, Anne) have only ever seen us dressed in farm grunge. Finally, I wondered whether anyone would have thought to tell Vendor Anna so I texted her and she thanked me for the news. She went to school with "all of Mr Harrinton's children" and will be coming to the funeral tomorrow.

So, there you are. Our initiation into a great piece of Irish culture.