The candlesticks and photo frames that usually adorn our mantelpiece have been usurped by four less conventional ornaments, and it doesn’t take long for visitors to notice. “Are they... ashes?” Well, yes – but they’re not so much a macabre display of what Americans call “cremains” as a small warehousing operation; we’re working on the logistics to enable their respective onward journeys, but for now they are stuck here, above our fireplace. Visitors have other questions: why the Russian hats? Why is that one just a cardboard box? Let me explain.
In December 2016, my 70-year-old Uncle Rod, my mum’s younger brother, died. His will, of which I was executor, left his body to medical science. Skeletal and riddled with metastases as he was, the doctors politely declined the gift. His will’s small print stipulated that anything left after his dissection should be cremated and scattered into the Avon from the Ashton Avenue Bridge, near his beloved Bristol City football ground.
In life, Rod embraced the unorthodox, and he had mentioned to me years before that he didn’t want a funeral, just a “gathering” of loved ones. I decided the best way of honouring his wishes was to organise a direct cremation – one with no ceremony or witnesses – and a knees-up in the garden room at Bristol Zoo, one of his favourite haunts.
About five weeks after his death, I answered the door to a man cradling a sturdy cardboard box in a canvas tote bag: Rod’s mortal remains. We chatted for a few minutes (mainly about how David Bowie had recently been directly cremated and therefore it had to be the coolest option), before he handed the box to me and left. I hadn’t held ashes before; they were much heavier than expected. After a few stupefied seconds, I stood and cried for a solid minute, then placed the box on the sitting-room mantelpiece, under a Soviet-badged hat, next to my nan.
Ah yes, Nan (and the hats). Rod’s flat had been decorated with remnants of his nomadic past; Bobby Kennedy merchandise from the US, aboriginal flags and a didgeridoo from Australia, military memorabilia from eastern Europe. While clearing it out – a hurried process, because the council wanted it back – Dan, my husband, lifted a Cossack hat from a shelf and discovered a large green plastic bottle beneath it. Reading the label that dangled from its neck, he announced: “I’ve found your nan!”
Dolly died, aged 90, in 2012 and left no instructions, so my mum popped her on the kitchen windowsill of the family home in Sheffield for a year or two, because “she always did love to see a line of washing”. Rod volunteered to return their mother’s urn to her birthplace, Newport in south Wales, and have her remains interred in her own mother’s grave. We’re not sure why Rod never made it, but we couldn’t leave Dolly in Bristol for the council to find, so she came back to Nottingham with us. It seemed only right to keep her hat on; and when we found a second hat in the flat, obviously it had Rod’s name on it.
When our thoughts turned to scattering, we decided it might be nice to send Rod and Dolly down river together, although my mum had her reservations (“But she can’t swim!”). Then Rod’s good friend Carol called us from Bristol to say that the Ashton Avenue Bridge was closed while extensive works took place, which is why, over two years later, Dolly and Rod are still sitting to the left of the mirror, under their furry hats.
To the right of the mirror are the urns with the ashes of Dan’s Aunty Mary and her husband, John. This summer, when his 89-year-old aunt died, it was my husband’s turn to be an executor.
Mary and John courted for 14 years before finally marrying in 2000, when she was 69 and John 65. But, after John’s death in 2014, Mary’s health began to deteriorate, especially her eyesight. She withdrew to her sofa, eating and even sleeping there. While clearing her house, Dan was a little more prepared for the shock of finding the green urn containing John, tucked beside the pillow at the end of the sofa that Mary slept on each night. So John came back with us until after Mary’s funeral, at which point they were reunited on our mantelpiece. This time there were no hats; we didn’t want it getting gimmicky.
Mary did express her wishes before she died: her ashes are to be scattered, along with John’s, on Woolley Edge, a Wakefield beauty spot. But John’s son from his first marriage is keen to be there, and ill health has so far prevented him from leaving his home in Spain. We’re waiting to coordinate timings for both scattering trips; in the meantime the strange quartet will remain on the mantelpiece. They are family, after all, and hiding them away in a cupboard would seem inhospitable.
In 2018, almost 482,000 cremations took place in Britain, accounting for about 77% of all deaths. There must be thousands of urns awaiting a final resting place, but few seem to be on display. There are grieving relatives who keep ashes by choice, of course; but what about the remains that are, like ours, in transit? Are they all hidden in cupboards?
According to Catherine Powell, customer experience director of Pure Cremation, there are almost 250,000 unclaimed urns in the UK. She says that even families who do have the ashes of a loved one can find it hard to agree what to do with them.
Scattering Ashes is a company that offers various dispersal and commemorative items, from decorative urns and garden memorials to water ceremony packages and ashes jewellery. The company carried out its own research into the length of time between receipt of remains and the decision to do something with them; 25% of the families they asked took more than three years to make their final move.
While there is a growing acceptance of unconventional methods when it comes to dealing with ashes in the UK, Richard Martin, the company’s director, has identified geographical differences. For instance, 75% of his jewellery customers live in the south-east. On the other hand, he adds: “When we contacted UK football grounds a few years ago to ask how they’d respond to ash-scattering requests on their pitches, we found that most northern clubs welcomed the idea, while most in the south were firmly against.”
We haven’t been tempted to consider alternatives for our own collection of ashes – no fireworks, pendants or Viking longboats – because we have instructions from the deceased. But as about 60% of Britons don’t have a will, many families have to make these decisions while grieving, which explains the often lengthy delay in dealing with the ashes.
Will I miss our four urns when they’re gone? The thing is, their very presence represents an absence, because they – Dolly, Rod, Mary and John – are already gone. They’re already missed. And I’m looking forward to getting those candlesticks back where they belong.
Final resting place: the dos and don’ts of scattering ashes
There is very little legislation around ash scattering, but common sense applies in all settings: consider the effect on the surrounding area and those who use it, and avoid disposing of non-biodegradable tributes along with the ashes. You will also need to make sensible choices about wind direction.
On private land You need permission from the landowner.
On your own land No permission is required, and there’s no need to keep a record.
At a cemetery, churchyard or natural burial site Easily arranged, by applying to the site manager – or ask your funeral director, if you have one, to act on your behalf.
At a historic site or beauty spot National Trust England and Wales, English Heritage, Welsh Heritage, Historic Scotland and the National Parks will all consider requests made direct to the local property or landowner. No permanent site markers are allowed. Rather than scatter from or on popular mountain tops, placing ashes inside an out-of-the-way hollow or around a tree is preferred. (The Royal Parks in London and the Forestry Commission do not permit scattering.)
At a sports ground Some football and cricket grounds and racecourses will allow ashes to be scattered pitch- or track-side, or sometimes in an adjacent garden of remembrance. Permission must be secured.
On rivers or lakes The Environment Agency has published a leaflet about river scatterings, stating that ashes should not be put in water 1km from any drinking water supply, or from bridges over rivers used by boaters or canoeists, or anywhere close to a marina, anglers or bathers. If you can comply with these requirements no permission is necessary. If in doubt, contact your local Environment Agency office, which can also advise about tide times.
At sea Many companies offer scatterings by boat all round the UK coastline, but you could also organise your own beach ceremony – again, provided you have consideration for others, and ensure it’s a sandy beach and the ashes are placed below the tide line.
Further information is available at environment-agency.gov.uk.
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