Bev died, aged 61. She was the wife of ‘Foxy’ John, kennel huntsman of our local hunt. Bev was the matriarch of the clan, with six children, 14 grandchildren, and other young people in need of help whom she cared for. Both John and Bev have Traveller ‘heritage’. That requires a Traveller funeral. Only the best would do. Bev was laid out for three days in an open coffin, lined in pink, in their rural council house — the only council house I know which plays host to a hunt meet. In the course of the wake, 500 guests somehow crammed in. As custom demands, the people of the house did not sleep. As is also the custom, a pyre consumed her possessions.
On Monday, I drove there. The coffin was borne off on a glass-sided hearse drawn by horses with black plumes and driven by two men in tall hats. Behind the hearse came several black stretch limos, and behind them, two lorries displaying the floral tributes (‘MUM’, ‘LUV U EVERMORE’), and a great heart-shaped balloon with a picture of John and Bev on it.
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