Tempus fugit

Rites of passage. Birthdays, weddings, funerals, memorial services. I haven’t been to any weddings recently but there have been quite a few of the others. And how they vary. No set formula but each one remarkable in its own way.

Just a couple of days ago, a 90th birthday celebration and the celebrant, who flew over from Florida in order to be with his extended family, impressed me greatly by sending his invitations out a year before. What faith in his continued longevity! A great venue: a long timbered barn with splendid views over magnificent gardens and swathes of verdant Surrey. Children, grandchildren, great and even a great, great grand child were present and, perhaps even more surprisingly, ex-wives, ex-daughters in law and individuals related by blood but unknown to each other. Nice speeches, much bonhomie and a good time was had by all.

A few days before, a first birthday celebration with the birthday boy happily oblivious to what was going on, sitting on the floor playing with a toy car, while umpteen other tiny tots careered around with watchful parents in attendance.

And earlier that day,  a memorial service for a close friend in St John’s, Smith Square, beautiful, light and airy. His children and some of their partners, acting almost as showbiz master of ceremonies. What did each of us remember of our friend? Who knew him in his twenties, his thirties, his forties? Who knew him professionally, who from his many other interests? We got up and held the roving microphone, said what came into our heads and listened to other contributions. Some Bach was played and we sang a couple of rousing hymns although, probably, no one there including our dead friend, was religious. Then we had a jolly good and jolly lunch in the crypt. We left holding one of the cream roses which decorated the place.

A few weeks earlier, we drove to Norfolk for a memorial in a big marquee which began with the sound of the bell ringers in the village church giving Ron a send off. Not because he was a churchgoer but because his son knew that he had loved the peal of the bells. Lovely speeches, lots of laughter. That’s the way it should be.

Tempus fugit and it is fugiting  faster than one would like but, hey ho, it is rather fun and these celebrations are part of the pattern.