I will be the first to admit that La Palma likes nothing better than a jolly good fiesta. In fact almost anything, noteworthy or not, has its own special day.
To my mind, one of the most inspired and unlikely fiestas – therefore winning my undying admiration – is the Day of the Deceased. Better known to most of us as All Saints Day, it is a time dedicated to those who have gone on before. On this special day, the 1st November, practically the only shop you will find open in an otherwise dormant island is the flourishing florist (it’s an ill wind …). Happily for them, it is a time when Palmerans say it with flowers.
Actually, the Palmerans seem to have developed a wonderful fact of life attitude with regard to death. It is hard to distinguish a group of casually dressed people gathering for a funeral from a jolly club outing. Indeed, the whole process of death here in La Palma, or rather that which immediately follows the final curtain, bears a little examining. ‘Swift’ would probably sum it up quite nicely. From the point where a person is pronounced dead and the funeral taking place is generally a breathtaking 16 to 24 hours. While sometimes traumatically sudden, this does of course cut out agonising decisions as to whether more distant relatives can, could or should attend the funeral and the time consuming selection of appropriate hymns. It does make me think though that long blinks should be avoided at all costs.
A rather improbable venue for a celebration then, the cemetery becomes a hive of activity, with swathes of people turning up every few minutes with arms full of flowers. Groups of cheerful villagers trim, tweak and tidy the blooms into beautiful arrangements, sprays and posies with which they decorate the ancient graves and tiered vaults. In a jamboree of festive colour, a celebration of life gradually blossoms.
And so, on the 1st November, there really is no better place to head than to the cemetery for a bitter-sweet experience of remembering and celebrating all rolled into one.
It really is a question of flower and glory, for ever and ever.
I think we can say Amen to that.
To my mind, one of the most inspired and unlikely fiestas – therefore winning my undying admiration – is the Day of the Deceased. Better known to most of us as All Saints Day, it is a time dedicated to those who have gone on before. On this special day, the 1st November, practically the only shop you will find open in an otherwise dormant island is the flourishing florist (it’s an ill wind …). Happily for them, it is a time when Palmerans say it with flowers.
Actually, the Palmerans seem to have developed a wonderful fact of life attitude with regard to death. It is hard to distinguish a group of casually dressed people gathering for a funeral from a jolly club outing. Indeed, the whole process of death here in La Palma, or rather that which immediately follows the final curtain, bears a little examining. ‘Swift’ would probably sum it up quite nicely. From the point where a person is pronounced dead and the funeral taking place is generally a breathtaking 16 to 24 hours. While sometimes traumatically sudden, this does of course cut out agonising decisions as to whether more distant relatives can, could or should attend the funeral and the time consuming selection of appropriate hymns. It does make me think though that long blinks should be avoided at all costs.
A rather improbable venue for a celebration then, the cemetery becomes a hive of activity, with swathes of people turning up every few minutes with arms full of flowers. Groups of cheerful villagers trim, tweak and tidy the blooms into beautiful arrangements, sprays and posies with which they decorate the ancient graves and tiered vaults. In a jamboree of festive colour, a celebration of life gradually blossoms.
And so, on the 1st November, there really is no better place to head than to the cemetery for a bitter-sweet experience of remembering and celebrating all rolled into one.
It really is a question of flower and glory, for ever and ever.
I think we can say Amen to that.
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