A Welsh funeral.
It seems most family gatherings are for births and deaths and hitches. It's very seldom all of these go off without some glitches.
But the Welsh they love a funeral with all that it entails, so when we have to go to one we prefer the ones in Wales.
We know there will be sandwiches and cakes both big and small, sausage rolls and vol au vents will adorn the village hall.
The Welsh know how to party after the sad goodbyes. Especially if there's tea involved and buns and fresh pork pies.
All the Aunts and uncles will be dressed in sombre black, with handbags for the left overs (they always take some back).
And after the church service, at the front of every queue. You know who will be waiting, it's always Uncle Hugh.
When all the prayers are over and we've sent them off to heaven. We'll have sucked on ancient toffees handed out by cousin Evan.
The vicars switched the lights off and chats to Jones the news, They pick up all the hymn books from the now empty pews.
You can always spot the farmers they are stuffed in too small suits. With black under their fingernails and mud upon their boots.
And the one who does most talking well his name is Joseph Morgan. But he is always called round here “Jo who plays the organ”.
You can always spot our Gareth he's the one who didn't marry, Gladys from the Rhondda and now he lives in Barry.
And look there by the window. It's the lovely sweet Rhianna, who sings just like an angel and is handy with a spanner.
It's a chance to meet the family and hear all their latest news so thank you to the Davies's, The Roberts and the Pughs.
The folk from down the valleys with the names without a vowel from Dai the coal and Aled and the lovely family Powell.
There's always a warm welcome in those ancient hills and vales. And so until the next time Thanks to the folk in Wales. Jan Millward©