Location, location, location

Today I thought I should consider funeral and burial locations and realized I know very little about what is and what isn’t possible. A friend is just in the process of organizing a funeral for her mum and decided it would feel right to have it at the church where her parents were married over half a century ago. They no longer live in the area. She found the details of the church online and sent an email. A reply told her that she had made a convincing argument for her case and everything was arranged. The interesting point is that a case had to be made. There is no automatic right to have a funeral in a church of your choice or indeed to be buried in the graveyard of your choice.

I contacted the Church of England press office and asked what the considerations were. Many churchyards are now closed for burials because they are full up (they do of course still hold funerals) but those that are open will take you if you are a member of the church or if you live in the parish. Apparently every street in the country is part of one parish or another so it is post-code lottery as to where you get.

If you want to be buried in a cathedral it is a different matter. There are not many interments within the buildings. Some like St Paul’s will now only take ashes. Usually the only people to be buried in cathedral grounds are members of the clergy attached to that cathedral. At St Paul’s, it is the Dean and Chapter of the cathedral who decide if your ashes can be interred there.

I think mum and I are unlikely to get dispensation to be buried at a cathedral or indeed at a bucolic country church of our choosing (although I can think of several I might like.) I decided to be more realistic and to investigate St Luke’s Church in Battersea. I’m not a church goer but I do visit this church on a pretty regular basis because it is associated with my children’s school. We go there for Spring concerts and Christmas carols and it is a place therefore with good associations. I drink mulled wine here with other parents and tears of pride come into my eyes when my children stand at the alter to read dodgy poems they've written or play in the junior school orchestra. It’s also a rather beautiful red brick in a high Victorian building with a basilica lined with shining mosaics. Signs hang in the pews reminding one of the virtues: perseverance, humility and so on. I can imagine having my funeral here, close to home in a place which has formed part of the geography of my life. But there is no graveyard! So whatever, there will be no one-stop shopping here. And I haven’t yet established whether my home is within the parish boundary. Goodness, it feels as difficult as trying to get a place at a local school!