My Giddy Aunt

My aunt loved a good funeral and would often join the congregation in the local church if some big-wig was being buried. She kept an eye on the church notices throughout the whole parish.

She would always tell me: “Jojo, you get better food at the wake of a big shot and large schooners of sherry, not tiny thimbles that the lower classes provide. There are always lots of people so you can mingle and not be noticed.”

She did not add that she had been thrown out of many when she got tiddly and started to declaim about the virtues and, more often than not, the vices of the deceased.

The thought of my aunt not being seen in a crowd of ten thousand was quite something and this was how I got involved with another of her mad cap schemes.

When I arrived at the house I noticed that she was dressed in black and looking very down in the mouth.

“Lucky is dead” she informed me sombrely. “He passed away last night and has gone to live with Jesus in the big cats home in the sky. I found him lying in the garden this morning with his four paws sticking up towards heaven as if trying to get there.”

I had always thought that Lucky was not a good name for that cat as he had used up so many of his lives living with her and now he was gone. Obviously nine lives had not been enough and he had overstepped that number and got his come uppance.

“Do you want to view the body?” she asked. “If you do, come this way.” She led me into the conservatory like an old fashioned undertaker and drew back the sheet with a flourish.

There lay Lucky stretched out on a cushion and I must say he looked very peaceful; as though he was just lying in the sun and dreaming of catching mice or voles.

“What are you going to do with him? Are you going to bury him in the back garden? Can I invite my friends round like we usually do and have a funeral?” Like all children I loved the idea of funerals and burials and my aunt knew how to put on a spread and my friends were always up for attending them. They would bring any dead animals to her and I sometimes thought that the boys might have killed things just to have the opportunity of being part of the ceremonies. Dead moths, caterpillars, spiders and gold fish were brought to her house. She never disappointed them and her garden had a graveyard with little crosses that looked like the battlefield of Flanders.

“This time he is going to become the centre of my advertising campaign and I am going to give him a grand send off and you can be the pall bearer. We will dress you up like an angel with flowers in your hair and we can put him in a little coffin which you can carry to the grave-side with tears running gently down your cheeks. You will look just like Little Nell before she died.”

“I thought I was supposed to be an angel and what advertising campaign are you talking about? Advertising what?”

At this she patted me on the head and mused: “You will look beautiful and we will invite the press round and you will make the front page of the local paper and this will launch my new venture. Lucky’s death, tragic as it is, gave me a wonderful idea.”

Drama was always Aunt Lillian’s forte and she really should have gone on the stage.
“What idea is that?” I asked tentatively. Ideas and my aunt was a combination that always spelled trouble and it was usually trouble for the person who was fool enough to get involved. I had been known to take part in her schemes in the past and I had always lived to regret it. Somehow I never seemed to learn and I could see another load of trouble heading my way.

“Funerals for pets is going to be the business get into and we are going to get in first before anyone steals the idea. Do you know how many animals there are in this village alone? There are cats, dogs, sheep, cows, pigs and budgerigars to name but a few and the people from the surrounding area will soon be flocking here to take advantage of our services.”

I could see she was getting carried away as usual and was only grateful that the local circus was not around. Somehow I could not picture us being able to find a box big enough to take an elephant if it popped its clogs whilst they were in town. Let alone manoeuvre it into the grave. How many pall bearers would that require? More than just me dressed as an angel or Little Nell or whatever character she came up with.

I suspected that if we were asked to bury a sheep I would have to dress as Little Bo Peep or something equally ridiculous and anyway who was going to dig the holes? We were certainly not the proud owners of a JCB and I had a horrible feeling that the job would also fall to me and I did not see myself as a grave digger extraordinaire.

There was no stopping her now she was in full flow. “You could go around the village with a bell calling out ‘Bring out your dead!’ in your loudest voice and collect the bodies on your go-cart and bring them back here for burial at the bottom of the garden.”

“Wasn’t that what they did for plague victims? I really don’t think that the Black Death is going to return in the near future and I don’t think my go-cart will carry a pig or a cow.”

“Don’t be so negative Jojo. Multinational corporations were not built on negativity. You have to have a positive approach to building a business empire. We will print flyers and you can distribute them around the neighbourhood to drum up business. Word of mouth will then kick in and I think it is a grand plan. When it becomes too big for us to handle we can franchise the idea and sit back and become millionaires. What do you think of that?”

Personally I didn't think much of that and to bring her back to earth I pointed down at the body lying between us. “In the mean time, what are we going to do with Lucky?

“Lucky will be our launch pad. We have to start somewhere and there is no time like the present.” With this she whisked a shoe box out from under the table.

I must point out that she wore size two shoes and Lucky had been a well fed cat who had regularly supplemented his diet with birds, shrews and mice.

“No way is he going to fit in there!” I exclaimed.

“We could fold him up small and then tie the lid on tight so that he does not jump out.”

With this she picked Lucky up and held him over the box. “Uhmm, perhaps I will have to think of something else. I did not realise that he had grown so big. No wonder he cost so much to feed.”

“How about this basket? It has been lying here for ages and green funerals are all the rage and even people are now being buried in wicker coffins. They are very fashionable at the moment,” I enthused.

Lucky was then unceremoniously stuffed into the basket folded up like a concertina but his little black paws still stuck up over the top.

“I think rigour mortis must have set in,” she said as she tried to bend them to fit. “I know it wears off after a while and then we will be able to fit him in there snug as a bug in a rug.

Before I forget, I will go and give Trevor a ring and he can come round and dig the grave for me.”

By 11 o’clock on the following day about nine of my school friends were gathered in the garden and we were told to line up in twos and follow her to the graveside. Aunt Lillian was dressed in a black lace frock, a long black cardigan that had been darned at the elbows with bright red wool and a rather fetching black hat with a bright yellow feather perched on her head at a jaunty angle.

I followed her dressed in my best white dress with a daisy chain looped through my hair which kept flopping down over my eyes and making me stumble. I was carrying Lucky in the basket that was tied up with a rather fetching pink bow and did not want to drop him.

All the kids were dolled up in various items of clothing reminiscent of a rummage in the dressing up box. What a motley crew we looked.

“Come this way children, spread out and make room for everyone.”

We stood around a hole big enough to bury a lion in because Trevor had got carried away with his task – over compensation must run in our family, and Aunt Lillian opened the Book of Common Prayer.

We kids sang Onward Christian Soldiers – this was one of her favourites, and we all knew the words from school assembly. We were somewhat off-key but enthusiasm made up for musical content.

“Dust to dust and ashes to ashes in the sure and certain............” she declaimed. She just loved the drama of this speech, but was cut off in mid flow by a piercing scream as Neville slipped and fell into the hole. It was so deep that we could only see the top of his head. He started to wail loudly.

“Well” said Aunt Lillian looking down on him. “It is certainly deep enough.”

We all started to laugh and Neville had to be yanked out and promised extra rations at the party to stop him crying. He stood there shivering and snivelling with a candle of snot running down his top lip which he proceeded to wipe on his sleeve. He had yellow mud all over this face and hands and this smeared onto his sleeve as well and he looked like a soldier in camouflage mode.

Without more ado Lucky was lowered into the earth and we threw daisies in on top of the basket, eager to get to the important part of the proceedings. I knew that a spread was laid out under the apple tree – there was watered down Council orange juice (this was handed out after the war to give children extra Vitamin C). There were slabs of bread pudding and Lincoln biscuits with the dots on that we nibbled round and round racing each other to reach the centre first. We were not allowed to do this at home as it was considered bad manners but my aunt never seemed to mind and joined in with great gusto. She was, however, quite miffed if someone beat her.

Now the party was over and the kids began to leave but by this time people from the village had begun to gather round the notice pinned to the front gate which said:

Pet Funerals

No animal too big or too small.

Services conducted with great decorum.

Enquire Within.

Some tutting was heard and a few people shook their heads and others made comments like. “Watch out, old Mother Auger is up to her antics again. What will she think of next?”
As the crowd grew, laughing broke out.

Aunt Lillian just smiled: “See, people are beginning to notice already. I knew this idea would be a winner. Just you wait and see Jojo.”

Suddenly Mrs Kelsey, the farmer’s wife stepped forward from the group calling: “Mrs. Auger, my husband has a problem and your new business is just the answer I am looking for.” She turned back towards her group of cronies and grinned.

“I told you this was the way forward,” Aunt Lillian whispered to me. Turning to Mrs. Kelsey she chirped: “How may I be of assistance to your husband?”

I could tell that she was trying to impress because she was using her really posh voice.

“Well the vet has just put down Daisy his favourite milker and he does not want to send her off for dog meat. Sentimental old fool I say but he will not change after all these years. It is his birthday in a couple of days and seeing your notice I thought I would arrange for you to give her a good send off as a birthday present.”

I was horrified, I knew that Daisy was huge and tried to get my aunt’s attention but there was no stopping her.

“We would be delighted to help. If you would come into the kitchen we can book a slot in the diary and I can take down the details of the order of service you would like. We offer many different types of ceremonies and Jojo here can dress as a milkmaid and follow the coffin. It will be quite magnificent. Just the send off for a favourite cow.”

I tried to interrupt but to no avail and keep wriggling around on my seat. “Surely it would be easier for Mr Kelsey to bury Daisy on the farm.”

“What is the matter with you Jojo? Have you got ants in your pants or something? If you are not going to act in a businesslike manner then I suggest that you leave us grown-ups to it. Children should be seen and not heard, I always say!” turning back to Mrs. Kelsey.

“Now where were we?”

“Burying Daisy,” said Mrs. Kelsey.

“Oh yes. How about next Friday at 11 a.m. The local kids are on holiday and they can act as pall bearers. Jojo will get her friends to do it.”

I had visions of my friends trying to carry a huge coffin containing the cow and crumpling under the weight.

“We can’t do that!” I cried. “Do you have any idea how much a cow weighs?”

By this time Mrs. Kelsey’s friends had joined us in the kitchen and giggling broke out.

Mrs. Kelsey smiled. “I was only joking. As Jojo says, it will be much easier for Bill to bury Daisy on the farm.”

After this they left and my aunt turned angrily to me. “What did you say that for? You lost a sale and that is unforgiveable in business. If you can’t say anything positive then shut up.”
I tried to look repentant but was secretly relieved that I can averted another disaster.

I knew it would be today’s topic of village gossip and my mother would not be happy but I had a clear conscience.

Some people are eccentric and loved for their strangeness and this summed up my aunt perfectly.

Author: Jay Cassie

Cartoon by: Garry Davies - garry.davies657@tiscali.co.uk