Attending funerals certainly does not particularly help ease our troubled minds, as we still try to figure out and come to terms with what happened, but we had to attend.
Just over two years since the death of my Gran Reid, her brother, and the last Pollock of that generation, was put to rest. David Pollock, my Great Uncle, passed away a week ago on the Saturday, at the age of 78, suffering from cancer, after being diagnosed in March.
The last time Ka and myself seen old Uncle David was when he attended little Lucy’s funeral. He made us laugh that day. He was feeding Joshua Wotsits, as our nephew sat on his his Dad, Steven’s, lap. Steven hummed and hawed, unsure of what to say to the older gent who was obviously blissfully unaware of Joshua’s strict diet, as, at that point, the wee man was just over a year old. David smiled and joked with Josh, as he fed him the bright orange puffy crisps as Ka and myself looked on, unsure what to say as Joshua’s strict baby diet of healthy fruit and vegetables flew out the window.
The first time I met my Great Uncle David properly was in my Aunt Mina’s kitchen. My Great Aunt Mina had just passed away I was left work to go to her wee house in the village to see if I could help in any way. David stood in my Aunt Mina’s newly fitted kitchen, leaning against the sink, a cigarette in his left hand, his eyes, big and round behind his large spectacles, sad and thoughtful as my Gran and Granpa moved around him. My grandparents tidied, phoned and organised, carrying out all the necessary jobs that unfortunately have to be done when a close relative passes away. David introduced himself, nodding knowingly when I gave him the look of realisation when I realised who he was.
I’m sure I’d probably met David in the past, at some point in those past growing twenty eight years, but he’d always been a pretty distant relative. He had always been a bit of a mystery to me as he’d never been about when we were young.
Following my Granpa’s passing David appeared on the ‘Reid scene’ more often. Much to my Gran’s annoyance David would occasionally turn up at her door, taking her by surprise, inviting himself in to check up on his sister.
Gran, being Gran, would always act the hostess though not forgetting to complain about his unexpected arrivals later to Ka and myself when we visited. Most of the time she’d complain that David’s surprise arrival hadn’t even given her a chance to hide her whiskey before he’d sit, make himself comfortable and suggest an afternoon tipple. Not that she always had whiskey around the house in full view, I must point out, but whenever she did, it would be in the glass cabinet in the corner waiting on a Saturday night in with friends, not an afternoon drink with Uncle David.
Gran would always oblige though, and perhaps join him for a wee dram herself.
They were a typical brother and sister. Always disputing, disagreeing and jocularly shouting at one another.
From what I knew of him and what I could tell in the short time I knew him, David was a great character, always full of life, shouting, telling his stories, talking of his work, the various trades he’d worked in, his families and rolling his eyes behind his glasses at my Gran as she shouted at him, at which point he’d obediently quieten and puff on his cigarette.
Late on Saturday morning The Craigton crematorium was full, which says it all really. He will be missed.
As the supporters started to arrive up in Ibrox stadium, a few miles down the road, the curtain moved over to conceal David Pollock’s, rose covered coffin to the tune of one of his favourite songs, Rodgers and Hammerstein’s ‘You’ll never walk alone’.
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