mostly david ephgrave

Today we buried my dad's ashes at the church in Woolmer Green where we had his funeral, opposite his old school and the pub he drank in regularly, in the same grave as his parents. The service was brief but pleasant, in the presence of his close family, and I had the responsibility of lowering the casket at the opportune moment. Doing this was hard, inevitably, but it also meant a lot to be the one to do it, and I hope it would give me dad comfort to know the task went to me; I love and miss him unceasingly and he's always on my mind (look out, Willie Nelson), and he told me not long before he died that I made him less afraid, so I hope I helped. There's one conversation we had in his last few weeks that was pertinent. Like many men, we didn't express the depth of our feelings until the last moment, but they could still be summed up in a few words. At the time, my heart ached as we navigated difficult topics knowing there wouldn't be a second chance. But I ...

I’d question whether a pub carvery in Woolmer Green is world famous. The village isn't that well known. It’s very familiar to me, but then it's been a part of my life forever. My dad grew up there, with my grandparents living in the same house until they died. My dad still owns the house to this day. While Woolmer Green is of major significance to the Ephgrave family, it’s had little impact on the rest of the planet.   (Earth's loss is our gain.) There are three pubs in Woolmer Green. My nan worked them all. Public houses played a big part in her life; she met my grandfather in one on the Isle of Dogs, while she was a barmaid and he was a heavily-drinking contingent of the Navy. Though she died when I was young, I still remember her vividly. We were very close. She once helped me make my own version of Rod Hull’s sidekick Emu, using a pair of old stockings for the head and the neck and a spangly green blouse for the body. It looked really good. She...