We made our way over to Jura for Duncan’s funeral today. The happy farmer, the happy potter and me, the happy farmer couldn’t resist taking us on a quick detour as he drove over the verge chasing the chickens away from the pottery on his way.
There was a stream of cars queuing for the Jura ferry when we got down to the Port. Duncan was an extremely popular man and many had travelled from the mainland to come and pay their last respects to this special man.
We meandered along the road to Craighouse where we met my parents, and I handed my father the black tie I had brought across. They had sailed into the bay last night, returning from their recent sailing expeditions to come and say their goodbyes to Duncan.
The church was full and outside many of us stood in the warm sunshine as we listened to the service via a speaker that had been erected outside.
The happy farmer gave a beautiful speech full of memories and funny stories about his friend.
We all made our way to the small graveyard, tucked away in the hills, with beautiful views of the bay, and stood a while as Duncan was laid to rest, a lone fiddler playing. Oatcakes and cheese were handed out and whisky poured, a Jura tradition at funerals, as friends, family and the community gathered together and remembered their friend Duncan. The celebration of Duncan’s life will continue on well into the night, as pipes and accordions are played, a ceilidh in the bar for Duncan.
Until next time….
There was a stream of cars queuing for the Jura ferry when we got down to the Port. Duncan was an extremely popular man and many had travelled from the mainland to come and pay their last respects to this special man.
We meandered along the road to Craighouse where we met my parents, and I handed my father the black tie I had brought across. They had sailed into the bay last night, returning from their recent sailing expeditions to come and say their goodbyes to Duncan.
The church was full and outside many of us stood in the warm sunshine as we listened to the service via a speaker that had been erected outside.
The happy farmer gave a beautiful speech full of memories and funny stories about his friend.
We all made our way to the small graveyard, tucked away in the hills, with beautiful views of the bay, and stood a while as Duncan was laid to rest, a lone fiddler playing. Oatcakes and cheese were handed out and whisky poured, a Jura tradition at funerals, as friends, family and the community gathered together and remembered their friend Duncan. The celebration of Duncan’s life will continue on well into the night, as pipes and accordions are played, a ceilidh in the bar for Duncan.
Until next time….
7 comments:
It does sound like a beautiful ritual - untimely passing, I know, but how lovely to be laid to rest by the whole community, with all those lovely traditions. xx
How lovely for Duncan that must have been. Funerals don't always need to be a sad affair do they. And it sounds absolutely amazing where Duncan has been laid to rest.
Crystal x
You are so lucky to be part of a communoity like this, what better way to eclebrate a life and ease a parting.
Lovely blog Posie. Reminds me of time I spent on Mull and in the Shetlands also where for some years my sister had a farm. Funerals, can be, should be, fun - best way of coping with grief I suppose. Or maybe it's just me.
a beautiful posting. oatcakes and a single fiddle.
What a fine way to say goodbye and how important it is to mark the big events of life and death properly. A sad but lovely blog.
A fitting send off for someone so well-loved. The funeral sounds like a Cape Breton funeral, really. Sad to lose a friend but taking full advantage of the gathering to send him off with full honours.
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