Dies Irae...

...A consequence of being a generally gloomy sort of cove (comes with the Scandinavian blood) of passing years, lived under the perpetual shadow of a potentially life-limiting illness, is that one from time to time lays out scoping plans for one's own funeral as part of the ending of it all.

Consideration indeed of 'The Four Last Things' is a proper clerical activity, one indeed I ought in truth - and in Truth - to be advocating all round. That though, in itself, is considered by many to be a somewhat dull thing. But if a certain reluctance among the living to think much of dying and death is perfectly natural, we church types don't help by oft misplacing the correct order and, thereby, mistaking the whole point and purpose.

We should not speak of 'Death, Judgement, Heaven and Hell' as we tend, but rather have Heaven as the last of all. Quite changes the note of the whole thing you'll find if you run it through the mind. Heaven bound, indeed, is our journey's end - quite a pleasing prospect you'll admit. Yes, there is the question of Hell and that is a stark enough thought for any to baulk at contemplating, but it is not the last stop on the line.

And that whole Judgement thing. Who could not have a moment of teeth-sucking terror at the thought of one's whole life laid out before God and his angels?

Another happy consequence of being that gloomy cove aforementioned is that I lightly skipped the traditional and horrid post-diagnosis enquiry "Why me?", for as the question inevitably did begin to surface at once came the self-replying answer - "Well how would you like it boy: alphabetically, chronologically, by degree of appalling sinfulness or what?"

Now there may be some West-by-North-Western European males who do not instinctively think of sexual failings when put to the test of recalling one's moral lapses. I, however, as I would hope you know by now, am not one such.

There are too many musical references one could summons to seek to put that whole matter into any kind of nutshell. Best perhaps to leave it to the words of delightful Tom Paxton: "Should have loved you better, didn't mean to be unkind. You know that was the last thing on my mind." More last things!

Well back to the funeral thing. Can never forget James Joyce's spoofing 'funferal' as an alternative view. Yes, there should be a degree of mourning - of grief even - and for at least the host of the show - me - a degree of rank fright. But there must too be something of the 'celebration of his life' that is so much the vogue.

The mix then - and it is still yet an early recipe - is somewhat unclear, but there will be a full Tridentine (please if you will) Requiem Mass, with the 'Dies Irae' and sung by one's monastic ex-brethren. They of course may not be available, nor indeed can one guarantee a dark and a stormy day with awesome flashes and crashes to accompany the chants. (You might think aesthetically that to be somewhat over-egging the melodrama, but if you have - as I have - ever sung the quiet chant to the roar of a thunderstorm, you'll not dispute the majestic wonder of the thing.)

But then there must also be the lighter note. And I shall have mine. The back three rows are to be reserved for the women in black. They are the assembly of the ladies one has loved and - largely - lost. They will all be elegant, with veiled faces, soft sighs and quiet weeping.

None will know who they are - they slip into place without introduction - they will, of course, not know each other, though they will smile gently to each other as if to say "Ah you too felt that magic touch did you? You too are left wondering just what happened, yet happy that it did?"

They will not attend for baked meats but depart each in their chauffeured car, having first cast a flower or other personal memento into the grave. They will shake the officiating Vicar's hand, perhaps with a small expressed sentiment of personal loss and fond recall of the fellow.

I below - at least in mortal form - shall thank them for their love and their presence. I shall be wanting their prayers too, but they will know this and if there is to be wrath that day, as there must, then I am confident they will help its ease.