As Father Time moves on and I get into my late 50s (wow, that makes me feel old!) we still have our fair share of parties, engagements and weddings, but funerals seem to be coming up more frequently.

Most funerals are pretty serious, but I’ve seen some lighter moments.

One of the first funerals I attended was that of the brother-in-law of a farmer we stayed with on holidays. This was in the 1970s and ol’ Jack, being Catholic, was one of 11 kids and had seven of his own so the family contingent was quite large.

Most people were sitting quietly in the church, as the organ played, when Jack’s oldest brother, Clarrie, in his 70s, walked in with his wife, Marge. While Marge walked towards the front of the church, Clarrie stopped half-way and took a seat. Clarrie then screamed, at the top of his voice, that he really liked his seat as he’d be able to see everything. Marge scurried back and told Clarrie that family was sitting up the front. Clarrie, still yelling, told Marge that he didn’t want to sit up front “with all those bloody kids crying!”. They breed them tough in the Riverina, but it’s a bit harsh cussing on kids crying at their dad’s funeral.

During another funeral the priest asked everyone to sit in silence and say a prayer. An old bugger at the front passed wind with what could only be described as the loudness of a freight train. The sound reverberated around the church to the amusement of myself and others. The priest, without missing a beat, said that the Lord answers our prayers in mysterious ways.

Another time, the father of a work colleague of mine had died. Everyone from work attended and, as the dad was Serbian, it was a traditional funeral. As we walked into the church, I reminded everyone to turn their phones off. Just as the family carried the coffin out of the church, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. Not only did it start to ring and ring loudly, but my ring tone was U2’s Beautiful Day. At least 10 seconds of the chorus echoed through the church before I managed to switch it off.

I attended a funeral of a family friend who died just after her 90th birthday. Unbeknownst to many, her three children had been engaged in a civil war over the care of their mother in her twilight years. During the youngest son’s eulogy, he launched into his siblings. Fair to say, we were all more stunned than a crowd at a St George game when they actually win, as his siblings stood up in the church and screamed at their brother. Then 20 or so people stormed out. Memorable day, but slightly awkward at the tea and sandwiches afterwards.

One of the saddest funerals was that of a school friend’s youngest sister who, at 16, died in a car accident. A huge crowd was at the funeral and the wake. So many people asked my friend Mary how she was feeling that she said to me: “I swear the next person who asks me how I am, I’m going to slap them across the face.”

Three seconds later her grandmother, a tiny Italian lady, asked her the forbidden question. That would have been fine, except I decided to shadow box behind her grandma, indicating to Mary that she should be true to her word. All the stress and grief unloaded from Mary and she burst out laughing. Everyone stopped, like Sunday traffic in Thirroul, as Mary’s mother grabbed her and escorted her outside – still laughing.

When my time is called I’d like just a casual gathering of friends and the telling of a few stories, with a bit of mayonnaise added, over a fair few beers and that will suit me just fine!