The Meenister’s Log
The snow was falling heavily and the hearse was struggling to climb the hill. Leaving the driver behind the wheel, the funeral director and myself got out and tried to push it up the incline. Unfortunately, the hatchback door opened and the coffin started to roll out. Tom, the undertaker, slipping and sliding and trying to push the casket back in, and me pushing him from behind, looked as if we were in a Laurel and Hardy short. We had a quick short once we got back in the now mobile hearse – Tom usually carried a hip-flask with him.
Another funeral – driving slowly and sedately along a busy high street on a Saturday morning, en route to the crematorium, the driver of the hearse saw, walking along the pavement a real honey of a young lady wearing a pelmet as a skirt. He slowed down even more to admire this beauty, and so, obviously, did the driver behind whose car ran into the back of us.
Now, this happened opposite a police station. Our driver went immediately across the road to be told amazingly to wait until a police car arrived on the scene!
It did eventually and our undertaker was breathalysed (no booze in his system). Paperwork then had to be completed and witness statements taken.
I interjected “Can this be done later, please – we’re already running late for the service?
Police Officer: “Will it make any difference – the guy in the box is deid anyway… ten minutes ain’t going to resurrect him!”
A fellow clergyman was in full flow whilst paying tribute to the deceased, when interrupted by a voice from the back of the crematorium: “He was nothing but a lying, cheating, drunken waste of space!”
(alternative riposte: “Well, we all have our bad days..”)