Threescore Years and Ten

“The days of our years are threescore years and ten; and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet is their strength labour and sorrow; for it is soon cut off, and we fly away.”

(Psalm 90:10)

Not being overly religious, I thought my memories of the phrase “threescore years and ten” came from Shakespeare. He did make reference to it in Macbeth, but the origins come from the Bible and for the benefit of those who have only been brought up since decimalisation and the metric system, a score is 20, so the above phrase basically means that we will live for 70 years and if we’re lucky enough to reach 80 then make the most of it as the end is coming pretty soon.

And what has this to do with the price of fish?

Well, nothing, but readers of this Blog will be aware that I attend more funerals than most and just recently I went through a period where I went to three in nine days. Never has the above phrase been so poignant because of the three people concerned, one was 66, one 67 and the other had only just celebrated his 70th birthday.


That’s no age these days bearing in mind the AVERAGE life expectancy is over 80 in the UK and because people are living so much longer now, the Queen no longer sends a telegram when you hit the magical three figures.

For me, funerals are a bit like buses; nothing for ages and then a few all at once. Many of them relate to clients of mine and I go along out of respect. There is no emotional attachment there, but unfortunately the deaths sometimes are family or friends, which is a lot more draining.

Most of the time, a funeral is a funeral; sad occasions naturally and which usually follow a set format, but all of these funerals were quite memorable in their own way.

The first one was for the Mother of a childhood friend of mine, Tim. We both played guitar and in our teens started a band called Fragment with some other friends at our school. I wasn’t in the band for too long back then but we were always round each other’s houses playing and writing songs. The three core members of the band stayed together beyond the schooldays and made it their living, moving to Holland and have been professional over there for in excess of 30 years. We lost contact for some time but caught up with each other a few years ago and now are in regular touch again, which is great. His Mother came to me professionally a few years ago and I drafted her Will, together with subsequent revisions. She had given birth to Tim at a young age (17) and had been a smoker for most of her adult life which, sadly, took its toll on her health and she spent her last years bravely battling cancer, dying at just 67 years old.

Her service was a Humanist one and if you haven’t encountered these before, they are (in my opinion) truly wonderful. They are non-religious, with no Hymns or Biblical readings, just sincere and honest tributes to the deceased. They are more “Celebrations of Life” than sombre occasions although of course, there is always plenty of grief and grieving that takes place. It was her wish that the three lads in the band brought guitars to the chapel and performed two songs, one which Tim written himself called "Kilimanjaro" and the other being her favourite song, “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”. They also requested me to bring my guitar along and I was to join them for a final song, the Monty Python classic “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life”. We included a special extra verse that we had written especially for her which brought smiles and approving glances from the congregation but I have to say that it was a rather strange experience; it is a bit of a musicians joke that we are asked to play at “Weddings, Dances, Parties, Birthdays, Barmitzvah’s and Funerals” but now I can actually include that last one on my C.V.

Afterwards we went to a local pub and entertained everyone by playing more songs, mainly requests. As funerals go, this was what you could call a pretty good one.

The second one was for a gentleman who wasn’t exactly a client of mine but I had been one of his Trustees. His birth was difficult and he had been born with severe brain damage, meaning that the Doctors had not given him very long to live; initial estimates were just 5 or 6 years but then this was increased, despite his parents given warnings not to expect him to reach adulthood.

His 70^th birthday was 3 days before he died.

Because of his disability, his mental age never got above that of a young baby and he had very few communication skills. He was however, constantly smiling and the littlest thing would have him beaming with joy. His parents looked after him until they both had died in the 80’s and he spent the last few years of his life in a care home. He had no living direct family and his distant family lived hundreds of miles away, meaning they were, sadly, infrequent visitors. However, more local family, friends and the care workers looked after him as if he were their own.

His early days were spent in a different part of the country and his Mother conceived him around the same time as her best friend also got pregnant. The two births were just a few days apart – both boys – and they spent a lot of their early years in each other’s company. The eulogy was delivered by that friend and was the most emotional reading I have ever witnessed. The vicar who took the service commented that it was the nicest eulogy he had ever heard and there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. It was a truly fitting tribute to an extremely lovable man who clearly touched the lives of everyone who came into contact with him.

The third and final funeral was another Humanist Celebration and was for a friend of mine, Pete. Back in the early 1980’s, he had joined a band I was in and we played together for about 13-14 years. We had stayed in contact and saw each other regularly but about 5 years ago he was diagnosed with Prostate cancer. Despite treatment, it became extremely aggressive and affected him to the point that he eventually became unable to go out. I managed to see him a week or so before he died and I was surprised at the deterioration in his condition. He was 66, had lived a fairly healthy and clean living life and I know had spent much of his last few years wondering “Why me?”

The large Chapel at the local Crematorium was jam packed with mourners and well-wishers; there was barely any room left even to stand and I don’t think I have been to a funeral that had been so well attended. He was clearly held in high regard. Two readings were given by his sister and the husband of his niece who both managed, much to my admiration, to deliver funny, appropriate and moving tributes, keeping a stiff upper lip and genuinely regaling us with stories from his life that made everyone laugh and remember him fondly.

Death comes to us all, but for those with terminal illnesses, it is not only inevitable but you can see it coming. I suppose in those cases most of the grieving and mourning takes place before passing away, which may make the final ceremony a little easier to get through.

Personally, I couldn’t help thinking that soon it will be my turn to arrive in the funeral car, sit at the front and greet the mourners afterwards. I’m not sure that I will have the emotional strength to deal with it in the same way as the people I have recently witnessed doing for their loved ones. There is a secret, cowardly part of me that hopes I never have to go through that experience. However, unless I become immortal, the only way that will happen is if I die first and as I’m planning on sticking around for considerably longer than my threescore years and ten I guess I’m going to have to man up and deal with it as and when my turn arrives.

But for now, that’s enough funerals for a while please. Apologies to readers who were expecting funny stories from dating experiences but I’m sure you’ll understand. Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible.

And many thanks to the friends and families of the deceased who have all allowed me to include their details in the post. May Heather, George and Peter all rest in peace.