Have you ever noticed what people do at a funeral?

I know I run the risk of being accused of desecrating a solemn occasion, but I’ve noticed the way certain people behave at a funeral once too often and I’ve finally decided to write about them. I just want to point them out in the hope that I will not observe them anymore, but I very much doubt it. They are too ingrained in our characteristics to expect them to disappear that easily.

You might tell me that I should be concentrating on other matters during a funeral, rather than the behaviour of the people around me. But these little, big things stand out so much that it is very hard to avoid noticing them.

If funerals weren’t sad occasions, I would be tempted to laugh when they happen. But all I end up doing is shake my head in despair. Of course, I will not be mentioning any names or places out of respect and it is not my intention to offend anyone. I am sure that most of you readers have had similar experiences. Just take this article with a pinch of salt and in the right spirit – it is written to make you smile, and perhaps realise that even you have, sometimes, or every time, behaved in this way.

Let’s start with the politicians. Most of them arrive late, when people are already seated, to make their way to a bench or chair, if possible somewhere in the front. This would enable their bobbing big head to be seen by the whole congregation. The closer the election, the more you see them. And they do not leave before making sure that the relatives of the deceased know that they have been there. I’m just speculating about this, but perhaps they even sign each of the books that are sometimes available at the different entrances of the church for people to sign to show they were there.

But “common” people do not behave that much differently. Speaking of those books, I’ve seen queues waiting to sign them, almost as long as those outside Lidl when they have a barbecue set for €9.99 – and all this to advertise their presence. They do so to show respect, they think, but they’re doing it to make sure that the relatives know they left work or the baby with the mother-in-law to attend – and that they now expect that, when some relative of theirs passes away, the good deed will be returned.

Bigger problems arise if there is no such book available. “How will they know that I’ve attended the funeral,” is what most people think when they enter the church. They make it so obvious that it’s almost as if it’s written on their forehead as they try to identify ways and means of how they will be seen.

Those who arrive early have the best chance. They take their seat as close to the “reserved” benches or chairs as possible. Those who come late try to copy the politicians.

On one occasion I arrived for a funeral half an hour early because I mixed up the time – it was one of the churches built in the form of a cross, with an aisle down the middle separating two rows of seats. I could see just one person sitting on each chair in each row closest to the aisle while the rest of the seats were empty.

I started to wonder why. Then it dawned on me that the coffin would be carried down that aisle – and sitting next to the aisle was the best way to be seen by the relatives of the dead person following the coffin as they walk towards the front of the church. Ingenious, I thought. Try to lock eyes with one of the relatives, one wearing no dark glasses, maybe attempt a sad smile of recognition, and it’s done. Mission accomplished.

Another time I saw five women – yes, five – jumping over chairs and the legs of people who were kneeling down just to be able to receive Holy Communion from the priest who was closest to the sons and daughters of the deceased person – and this when another priest was serving Holy Communion five metres away from where they were sitting.

I almost expected one of them to trip while passing by the bench where the relatives were kneeling, just to make sure that attention was drawn to her. Maybe next time they’ll raise an umbrella or flag like tour guides do for them to be easily seen by the group of tourists they are leading.

The funniest bit is the part when the remembrance token, with the photo of the deceased person, is distributed. God forbid that some people are left without one; who knows, maybe they have a collection at home and believe that the more they have, the more they will live. Or the more they have, the more they think that their own remembrance token with photo will be on the wanted list when they are the ones who die.

You can see satisfied looks when they get one, clutching it as if it was a €500 note. Those who don’t are so disappointed that they are probably already planning to pay them back when it will be their turn to “host” a funeral. “No token for me, no token for you,” is what they will be thinking at the time.

I’ve seen some people talk to the person delivering these tokens too – and it’s easy to know why. They would have asked for a second one “for my daughter because she could not make it and would like to have one, you know.” And that is perhaps why some people then end up without a token and start planning their devious schemes.

The last part is outside the church, while the coffin is being placed in the hearse for its final voyage to the cemetery. Again, I almost expect shouts of Charlie, jien hawn (Charles, I’m here) as people crowd around the relatives to let them know of their presence. Pulls and pushes abound, and this always reminds me of the time when I saw nuns removing pins holding their veil to prick other nuns standing between them and Pope John Paul II when he first visited Malta in 1990.

I hope I’m not giving any ideas.

The only good thing is that we do not have the same customs the Western world has and hold a reception to celebrate the deceased person’s life after the burial. I am sure we would manage to turn such occasions into wedding-type ceremonies, and maybe add some fireworks too.

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