46 It Happened in Iona

Aeternam, Kyrie, Dies Irae” during Mass, the thundering “Lib- era” around the casket after Mass, the soothing “In Paradisum” as the coffin was wheeled down to the door and the ever beautiful

“Benedictus” often sung on the way to the grave. In the mid 505 the Iona choir with considerable satisfaction delved into and was able to master even the more intricate other parts of the requiem Mass.

Sunday funerals were forbidden, that is the funeral Mass was not permitted. However, on rare occasions there were burials Sunday morning just before the parish Mass with a brief prayer service in the church followed by interment. On a few occasions also a burial would take place Sunday afternoon, preceded again by a short prayer service in the church. Honorary pallbearers were practically unheard of, at least until the end of the 505. For funerals of people in areas where many non-Catholic neighbors lived, it was common to have three Protestant and three Catholic pallbearers even long before the coming of the ecumenical age. The bearers carried the remains from the church to the grave. With the simple caskets where handles were more for decoration than for use, straps or sticks under the casket were the normal methods of transport to the cemetery.

For some years it was reported that Tim Daly, an elderly retired carpenter, had his coffin made and hidden in the upstairs of his workshop. Neighbors remained curious and were waiting for proof of this rumored peculiarity. Sure enough, at his death in 1945 there it was, a plain flat-top box, wide at the shoulders and tapered toward the feet. It was covered with black cloth outside and lined with fluffy white material inside, the whole unit a tribute to the man and his practical foresight.

A few special mementos of death remain clear. One was my first wake experience at the age of seven or eight, the deceased being Mrs. Watty Roche. The snow was extremely deep in their yard as we slowly approached the death house by horse and sleigh. I kept very close to Mother and didn’t go quite up to the coffin that night. It was a healthy introduction to the reality of death and I remember some of the mourners talking to me that evening. Another was the winter of 1943 when three wakes went on at the same time a short distance from our place. First was Shirley McGuigan, a budding seven-year-old from practically next door, who died after a lingering illness. The other two were Patsy Lyons and his sister, Mrs. Lizzie McKenna, these two being waked together in the same room at the McKenna home