"I must go down to the sea again...."

and as the words came out I was back in the place where I spent part of my childhood. Dad's cousin was showing me how he could, like all good sailors, splice a rope.
I had forgotten that until then.
Funerals are for the living, not the dead. Middle Cat was going to take us but she was sick and didn't want to pass on her germs. We didn't want them either so it was a taxi journey both ways - with the same driver each way. He and the Senior Cat got on well together - reminiscing about the past. It put the Senior Cat in the right frame of mind for the afternoon.
The church was full - standing room only at the back. I'm glad about that because R...'s wife is a lovely person and, although calm, needed some support after 61 years of marriage. 
      "The Senior Cat is the eldest of that generation," she told me and we worked out who was left  - R...'s brother, two cousins in different states. The cousins weren't able to travel but they had been in touch. Typical. 
There were other cousins of varying degrees present - mostly my generation. Some of the younger cousins would have found it difficult to get time off work but they had been in touch too. Typical.
I saw someone I didn't know was connected to the family. Her daughter is married to one of R...'s sons.  She seemed bemused by the number of cousins there.
     "Clan," I told her.
It didn't really mean anything. A..., standing next to me, tried to explain.  I don't think everyone quite understands the concept of "clan" - or how important it is to some families. 
And  yes, funerals are for the living...a good one will bring back good memories. This one did. I had forgotten that incident until one of R...'s son started to read Masefield's "Sea Fever".  Suddenly I could smell the wharf, the tar used to caulk the boat timbers, and the rope. I could see R....working on the rope. He taught me two of the knots I needed for my "Brownie badge" that day. Some years later he showed me how to make my own lanyard - and then made me teach the rest of my patrol so that I would not forget. He would go fishing with my paternal grandfather occasionally - and neither of them would teach me how to gut a fish. 
For the past three years he had been in a nursing home. He hated it but tried not to show it. He had lost a leg to severe diabetes and several toes on the other foot.  My cousin M... - or  his brother R - would come and pick up the Senior Cat and they would go to visit. I always knew that lunch needed to be something that could be readily reheated because they would invariably be late back. One of the nursing home staff told me yesterday,
     "We always knew when R.... and your father and the cousins were there....they had so much to talk about!"
And after the service yesterday there was so much to talk about.  Yes, funerals are for the living - and the memories they bring back.