Finding Barry's Grave

See here for essential background: http://hpanwo-hpwa.blogspot.com/2022/10/barry-dies.html.
And: http://hpanwo-tv.blogspot.com/2022/10/barry-dies.html.
I was determined to find out if Barry had a grave or memorial as soon as I found out he had died. This was difficult as I had blocked our only mutual contact, for reasons I will not divulge at this point. However I did mange to find a social media post showing there was something for Barry at the North Oxfordshire Crematorium and Memorial Park, see: https://www.northoxfordmemorial.co.uk. This is not an easy place to get to if you don't have a car and I ended up having to walk from Kidlington, which took about an hour. Thankfully the weather was dry. Once I got there I faced another challenge. The Memorial Park is huge, about thirty acres, and it is covered by thousands of memorials, almost all anonymous and only consisting of a small tree or bush. There are no full-body graves there, but some of the trees have ashes scattered around them or buried in their roots. A few had name tags on them, but most of these were missing. I could see no staff around to ask in the low, modern buildings which included the waiting room, chapel and crematorium. The Park was only open till four PM and so I only had about three hours to search. As I said, I am not willing to ask anybody else where the correct memorial is. I muttered: "Barry, where are you? Help me find you." Luckily it didn't take long. Barry has a more substantial tomb than most of the deceased and it stands out clearly from the trees. His family have interred his cremated remains in a permanent resting place which you can see below.

                               

I said a few private words to Barry. I don't know where he has gone to or where he is right now, but I hope he heard me. I hadn't brought any flowers for the pot, but Barry was never much one for them anyway. Instead I chose a more apt form of remembrance. I went to the nearest pub, a large and pleasant location in the middle of the countryside called Sturdy's Castle, see: https://www.sturdyscastleoxford.com. There I consumed a pint of Guinness. This is not something I often drink myself, but Barry loved it and could drink eight or nine pints of it in a row. When we went camping in Ireland in 1997, we visited the St James Gate Brewery in Dublin where the best of it comes from.

I'm glad I've had the chance to pay my final respects to Barry; albeit almost two years late, through no fault of my own. I've done it in my own way and I think Barry would appreciate it.

I Really Shouldn't Laugh...

 

Have you ever found something funny that you feel you shouldn't, that you feel guilty for finding funny? Probably most people will at some point. Such emotions are called "gallows humour" or "black humour". Doctors and nurses excel at it, see: https://hpanwo-hpwa.blogspot.com/2020/05/sick-hospital-video.html! However, doctors and nurses are not alone. Perhaps it was my twenty-three year career in hospital portering that led me to think as I do for the subject of this article. When I was in Theatres in the early 2000's a new porter joined the department whom I will not name, nor will I post any links to what happened (Right now I can't find any actually). Porters often have nicknames and his was "Swampy". This is because he was a bit of a hippy and reminded us a bit of the famous road building protester Daniel "Swampy" Hooper. A couple of years after he joined, he and a civilian friend of his did a terrible thing. They broke into the house of an old man who lived alone, somebody they knew. The man was in at the time and they demanded money and valuables from him as well as the PIN for his bank card. When he refused they tied him up and wrapped an electric flex around his neck. They then threatened to pull it tight and strangle him unless he complied. I'm not sure what happened next and several different stories came out in court. Either the old man still refused to surrender or one or both of his two assailants got carried away; either way, the flex did end up getting pulled tight and the victim died. After they had fled the scene and calmed down, Swampy and the civilian must have realized that they would be hunted by the police; therefore they took everything they had stolen from the old man and headed for Amsterdam. You might anticipate that this was some kind of escape attempt, but it wasn't. Once in the Dutch capital, the two men went on a wild three-day bender. They blew every penny they had stolen from the old man on drink, drugs and prostitutes. It appears that they realized that they had no chance of evading the police and it was only a matter of time before they were caught, as indeed they were a few days later. Knowing also that they definitely faced a lengthy prison sentence, they decided to have one last experience of hedonism before the years of austerity behind bars. They are probably still there today. The reason I can't help finding this amusing is that theirs is such a typically hospital portering response to the situation. Obviously this is not a laughing matter, especially for the poor man who was killed and his loved ones, who have my sympathy; hence the shame I feel at laughing. We don't choose our feelings though; and once I became a hospital porter I became one in its entirety. I can never again choose not to be one.