When a farmer dies in Scotland, it’s the convention that he gets a big funeral. So, when auld Jockie Murdoch of Muirside died, it wasn’t just his relatives and his neighbours who turned up for him, but all the other farmers for many miles around, who’d known him from the auction marts and the agricultural shows, plus the contractors who’d shifted his animals, transported his fertiliser and lime, delivered his fenceposts and similar gear, the vet, the bank manager, the insurance agent, the auctioneer, the farmers’ union rep, and so on. There must’ve been more than a hundred of us.
Continue reading “A Life Well Lived by Michael Bloor”Tag: memorial
Listen to Elliott Smith by Joel Bryant
An agitated, grey man is staring, confused at a post box. His pet spaniel is stubbornly pulling at its lead, trying to continue its walk, but is being firmly ignored.
Continue reading “Listen to Elliott Smith by Joel Bryant”Desert Dust by James Bates
The middle-aged, balding man sitting behind the desk at the Arapahoe County Funeral Home looked up as I walked in. He smiled a greeting. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” I said, trying to be polite since I really didn’t want to be there. “My name is Sam Jorgenson. I think I talked to you earlier this week. I came for my father’s ashes.”
“Ah, Mr. Jorgenson.” He nodded, his face taking on what I figured was his practiced look of sad commiseration. He stood up, came around his deck, and extended his hand. “Nice to meet you,” he said. “Yes, we did talk. I’m Jack Benson, the director here. May I offer my condolences.”
I shook his hand. It was dry and cold to the touch. “Thank you. Nice to meet you,” I said.
Continue reading “Desert Dust by James Bates”The Scene at Scott’s Mill by Tom Sheehan
Old Scott’s Mill had given off odd sounds since the day it closed down. Now it gave off a sense of passage.
