A small funeral
Oct. 27th, 2021 06:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shewhomustToday's crisis happened before breakfast: durham_rambler checked his e-mail and found a message that a client's site was unavailable, with a notice saying that it had run out of bandwidth. We knew exactly why it had been busy lately, but hadn't had the warnings that it was at 80% and 90% of its allowance, and had come away from home without any device with the necessary passwords to increase the allocation. On the off-chance, durham_rambler asked our hosting service if they could help - which is absolutely not their job - and they did. Thank you, Astutium, for service above and beyond.
Even after this complication, we had time in hand before we needed to be at Shrewsbury crematorium, and we spent it at Wroxeter Roman city. We didn't have time to visit the reconstruction of a Roman town house, or whatever remains of the Forum can be seen on that side of the road, but we wandered around the baths and basilica, which seems to be all that is currently excavated of the city, and admired the massive Old Work (a huge slab of the wall of the basilica) as the light changed, and the sun shone and the clouds grew darker. I took photographs, but they'll have to wait until we get home, because I don't think the hotel wifi can cope. Just before we headed into the museum (and exit through gift shop) there was a very fine view along the length of the basilica to the Wrekin in the distance, and I thought ofcmcmck ...
The funeral was - well, it was a funeral, which isn't good, but as funerals go it was fine. Not a big crowd, but the upside of this is that we were quite well spaced in the crematorium, and when the celebrant invited us to join in singing The Lord of the Dance (alongside the Carthy / Swarbrick recording) it felt possible to do so; not entirely necessary, but possible. I've been to funerals that conveyed more of a sense of the person who'd died - it helps a lot if the celebrant knew them personally - but it did feel as if we were talking about the same person, which is the main thing.
Lunch afterwards was at the Mytton and Mermaid, beside the Severn and most of the way back to Wroxeter. (At one point it belonged to Clough Williams Ellis, who gave it its name). We found ourselves sharing a table with two women who had been B.'s carers during his illness, one of whom was a keen metal detectorist, had enjoyed talking about local history with B., and ended up showing us pictures of her finds, including a Celtic gold stater. Meanwhile, at another table, the Milton Keynes amateur dramatcic society were looking forward to their forthcoming production of Treasure Island.
So it goes.
durham_rambler checked his e-mail and found a message that a client's site was unavailable, with a notice saying that it had run out of bandwidth. We knew exactly why it had been busy lately, but hadn't had the warnings that it was at 80% and 90% of its allowance, and had come away from home without any device with the necessary passwords to increase the allocation. On the off-chance, durham_rambler asked our hosting service if they could help - which is absolutely not their job - and they did. Thank you, Astutium, for service above and beyond.Even after this complication, we had time in hand before we needed to be at Shrewsbury crematorium, and we spent it at Wroxeter Roman city. We didn't have time to visit the reconstruction of a Roman town house, or whatever remains of the Forum can be seen on that side of the road, but we wandered around the baths and basilica, which seems to be all that is currently excavated of the city, and admired the massive Old Work (a huge slab of the wall of the basilica) as the light changed, and the sun shone and the clouds grew darker. I took photographs, but they'll have to wait until we get home, because I don't think the hotel wifi can cope. Just before we headed into the museum (and exit through gift shop) there was a very fine view along the length of the basilica to the Wrekin in the distance, and I thought of
cmcmck ...The funeral was - well, it was a funeral, which isn't good, but as funerals go it was fine. Not a big crowd, but the upside of this is that we were quite well spaced in the crematorium, and when the celebrant invited us to join in singing The Lord of the Dance (alongside the Carthy / Swarbrick recording) it felt possible to do so; not entirely necessary, but possible. I've been to funerals that conveyed more of a sense of the person who'd died - it helps a lot if the celebrant knew them personally - but it did feel as if we were talking about the same person, which is the main thing.
Lunch afterwards was at the Mytton and Mermaid, beside the Severn and most of the way back to Wroxeter. (At one point it belonged to Clough Williams Ellis, who gave it its name). We found ourselves sharing a table with two women who had been B.'s carers during his illness, one of whom was a keen metal detectorist, had enjoyed talking about local history with B., and ended up showing us pictures of her finds, including a Celtic gold stater. Meanwhile, at another table, the Milton Keynes amateur dramatcic society were looking forward to their forthcoming production of Treasure Island.
So it goes.
no subject
Date: 2021-10-27 06:48 pm (UTC)We were up behind the Wrekin today.
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Date: 2021-10-28 04:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-10-27 11:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-10-28 09:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-10-28 04:31 pm (UTC)Yes, I hadn't known Wroxeter was Viriconium until yesterday!
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Date: 2021-10-29 09:35 am (UTC)On Wenlock Edge the wood's in trouble;
His forest fleece the Wrekin heaves;
The gale, it plies the saplings double,
And thick on Severn snow the leaves.
'Twould blow like this through holt and hanger
When Uricon the city stood:
'Tis the old wind in the old anger,
But then it threshed another wood.
Then, 'twas before my time, the Roman
At yonder heaving hill would stare:
The blood that warms an English yeoman,
The thoughts that hurt him, they were there.
There, like the wind through woods in riot,
Through him the gale of life blew high;
The tree of man was never quiet:
Then 'twas the Roman, now 'tis I.
The gale, it plies the saplings double,
It blows so hard, 'twill soon be gone:
To-day the Roman and his trouble
Are ashes under Uricon.
no subject
Date: 2021-10-29 11:20 am (UTC)