Could it be a faded rose….?

This has been a time of anniversaries and reflection for me. I’ve been looking back over my seven years as a funeral celebrant.

Those years included the pandemic of course. It was a difficult time for bereaved families. Families were separated and in many cases, their loved ones died alone or isolated. Then on top of that, they had to decide who could attend the drastically reduced numbers allowed in a crematorium.

But other things emerged from that strange time. One of my closest friends is a photographer from Ireland. During the time of the pandemic he was living in Dublin. His closest green space, where he could escape to from the house and stretch his legs, was a cemetery.

Inevitably his photographer’s eye was drawn to the graves and the headstones and the tributes that people leave. In particular he noticed the often garish artificial flowers that people place on graves. Brightly coloured and made of plastic and fibre and wire. He began to send me photos of these. And I suppose we were both slightly mocking these tributes. Such trashy offerings!

And yet…

What Paul began to notice was that, over time, the colours began to fade. They became more subtle. Began to possess a strange beauty. And this transformation made us realize that there never was anything trashy about these flowers, however bright the colours and cheap the materials. They were placed with as much love and grief as any hothouse lily or silk paeony.

I have observed a similar transformation in funeral poetry. Of course it’s nice when a family asks me to read a classic and beautiful poem. But often they will choose something “from the internet”. And it’s not my role as a celebrant to sneer. But rather to invest those words with the emotional power that drew the family to choose them.

So they may be bad poetry and the flowers may be plastic. But they are chosen and offered with love and, just as the sunlight fades the colour into something strange, that love transforms these into something sacred.

Photos by Paul Connell, Derravaragh Studios

Water cremation is now legal in Scotland

It’s now legal in Scotland to offer aquamation funerals as an alternative to more traditional cremation or burial. Aquamation is also called water cremation, resomation or, more technically, alkaline hydrolysis. The process involves immersing the body in a strong alkaline solution in a pressurized container and heating to about 150C. So heat is still involved but it’s not burning in any real sense – it sounds a bit gruesome but the body is essentially dissolved apart from the bones, which can be pulverized (something that actually happens in ordinary cremations as well). Meaning that the family can still receive “ashes”.

This process is already legal in a number of countries including Ireland and famously South Africa. (Archbishop Tutu chose this method for his funeral.) But this is a new development for Scotland.

Proponents of aquamation say that it is more energy efficient, reduces emissions, and therefore offers an eco-friendly alternative to cremation. And of course, it doesn’t take up land in the way that cemeteries do.

But the fact of its now being legal doesn’t mean that it’s actually available here yet. Companies will have to invest in new equipment and premises. It will be interesting to see how this happens. Will existing crematoriums add this facility and offer it as an option? Will funeral directors install equipment at their premises? Will completely new “resomariums” spring up? And of course…. will it be cheaper?

These questions will have implications for funeral celebrants. If an existing crematorium adds a facility then as far as we’re concerned it may be business as usual with a funeral ceremony taking place in the chapel as always. But if new places are built to carry out these resomations, will they be modelled on crematoriums or might they be quite different and perhaps accelerate the trend to direct cremation? That trend means that any ceremony has to take place somewhere else – and this provides challenges and opportunities for celebrants.

I’m hoping to chat to some providers of resomation in other countries and I’d be really keen to hear from anyone who is thinking of developing it in Scotland – please do get in touch.

Seven years!

Today, 1 March 2026 (and St David’s Day), marks my seven-year anniversary of becoming a funeral celebrant! It’s been a most fascinating and rewarding period of my life. I’ve done a lot of different things in work down the years (never really knew what I wanted to be when I grew up….) but this has definitely been the best experience.

It has also been a time of change in the Scottish funeral. We’ve seen a huge rise in the number of celebrant-led services. A greater emphasis on the person’s life being the centre of the funeral. More imaginative approaches to ceremony. A rise in direct cremations.

Of course it was also a time of the pandemic, which affected funerals so profoundly. There were times when only six people were allowed into the crematorium – and they had to sit apart. I recall the surreal experience of driving from Dundee to Perth along a completely deserted dual carriageway to conduct a service with just two people in the chapel. I thank SICA (the Scottish Independent Celebrants’ Association) for their support during that time. (I didn’t know then that I would go on to become Chair of SICA!)

In the course of seven years you do meet a lot of families and conduct such varied services. Sometimes a eulogy practically writes itself when someone has led a full life – career, family, hobbies, travel. But there are also occasions when there seems on the surface so little to write about: “what did he do for work?”, “oh he never had a job”…. “and hobbies, pastimes?” … “no he wasn’t the hobby type”…. “lots of friends?”, “no, not really, bit of a loner”.

Of course a picture begins to emerge between those few lines. But those are both the hardest services to write and strangely perhaps, among the most rewarding from a professional and personal perspective. I’ve been dipping into the work of the poet WH Auden lately and there’s a lovely short poem called Who’s Who that captures something of that for me. The ordinary life of someone “who, say astonished critics, lived at home”.

But of all the funerals I’ve conducted over these years, the most meaningful for me was for my own friend Bryan Bale, a proud Welshman who with his usual immaculate timing, died on St David’s Day 2020. Sadly, that was just at the very start of the pandemic and we were unable to have a memorial service in person at the time as he’d requested. And as the pandemic wore on, it became clear that it might never happen so his partner and I decided to hold a zoom service on the anniversary of his death. I led that evening’s celebration of his life. As I had promised him I would. I doubt if all those assembled in that online space would have got all the (very bad!) jokes that I made. But Bryan would.

So a couple of anniversaries to reflect on today as I prepare myself to go out this afternoon and meet a family and prepare a service for the loved one they have just lost.

Michael Hannah, Dundee, St David’s Day 2026

In our time

Poetry has always played a powerful role in funerals. Celebrants will often choose or ask a family to choose a poem that captures a moment or a life perfectly, and in a few well crafted lines. Sometimes, as in the Lonely Funeral project, a poem is all that remains. Something beautiful created from a few fragments of a lonely life.

One poem that is often chosen is WH Auden’s Funeral Blues. “Stop all the clocks……He was my North, my South, my East and West”. It was read by John Hannah in the film Four Weddings and a Funeral, and no doubt that led to its being used at many farewell ceremonies. The final line capturing the anguish of grief: “I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.”

I’ve always admired the poetry of Auden and in thinking about adapting my work to addressing environmental grief, I have been reading some of his work. Not so much to “praise the mutilated world” but to explore the causes of where we are.

Auden lived through the 1930s, a time of dictators. Monsters who promised glory for their peoples and who delivered little more than ruin. Here is perhaps the most succinct description of the “strong” man, Epitaph on a Tyrant. The line about respectable senators busting with laughter at even the most pathetic attempts at humour by the great man rings especially sharply in our age of spectacle.

Epitaph on a tyrant by WH Auden - a poem on the London Underground

Epitaph on a Tyrant: written in 1939 and still sadly as relevant today.

(Poem courtesy of the Poems on the [London] Underground)

Слава Україні!

Flag of Ukraine with coat of arms

Today marks the fourth anniversary of the invasion of Ukraine by Russia. It’s a strange co-incidence but it’s also the day that my Ukrainian guest, a refugee from the war, moves out of my flat and into more permanent accommodation in Dundee.

I’m sure everyone remembers those images of columns of implacable Russian forces, tanks, armoured vehicles. The crushing might of an empire bearing down with cohorts, not exactly purple and gold, but certainly like a wolf on the fold.

Of course it didn’t exactly go according to plan. Ukraine is still standing and may even be turning the tide. Russia’s military reputation is in tatters and some of its finest ships now lie safely at the bottom of the sea.

For my part, I reflect on how my guest, one of those “migrants” we are instructed to fear, has looked after my flat and left it impeccable. Has worked hard – not taken “handouts” but found work, often appallingly badly paid, and work that most Scottish people would turn down. Has contributed to our society in other ways, volunteering, generally being a good person, law abiding, caring, thoughtful….

I have my own personal anniversary coming up in a few days. On first of March it will be seven years since I first started working as a funeral celebrant. In that time I have listened to the life stories of many people. Met many families. And most of those people were basically decent good people. Flawed obviously. A few rogues of course.

A quick scan of the headlines reminds us that the people who run our world are mostly flawed rogues – all pretty shitty individuals, the Putins, the Trumps, the “princes“, the “priests”. But most of the ordinary people they rule .. basically good and decent.

Maybe not a very startling reflection after seven years of celebrancy. But it’ll do for me.

The D Word

I wanted to highlight the work of some celebrant colleagues of mine in the field of death education or death literacy in Scotland. My good friend Gillian Robertson set up the D Word with a mission:

….to increase knowledge and awareness, reduce anxiety and apprehension, and contribute to an increasingly compassionate society where talking about death is a more common and comfortable experience.

The D Word is a resource designed to be delivered by experienced celebrants to groups of any age and stage who would benefit from being supported to become familiar with what to expect when someone close dies. It is perhaps most valuable as a resource for schools. We often think that we have to protect children from the reality of death. Sadly, death is a reality and the D Word can help to build resilience through knowledge and by breaking down the fear of the unknown.

I’m delighted to see the D Word going from strength to strength and today Gillian told me that they have just launched a web site where you can find out more about their work. Gillian and I have worked together on a number of death literacy projects such as a series of staged funerals. I know this is important work and I know that the D Word will play an important role nationally in helping to create a more compassionate society in Scotland.

Very best wishes to Gillian and to Aileen Palmer, Laura Throssell, and Angela Maughan.

Michael Hannah, 23 February 2026

Reading Silent Spring

Silent Spring by Rachel Carson was published in 1962. It was one of the most significant books of its time and it helped launch the environmental movement. I was very young when it first appeared but I did grow up in the 60s and 70s and I do remember the almost apocalyptic feeling of dread at what was happening to the natural world at that time.

I’m currently working on organizing climate and eco grief circles so I thought I would read the book. Does it still have a message for today’s environmental struggles and activists?

It’s a powerful read. Carson trained and worked as a scientist but she was also a fine writer and she succeeded in marshalling substantial and complex evidence and data, yet at the same time making it accessible to a wide audience. Her key theme was the indiscriminate use of chemicals during the post-war period, mainly in agriculture and forestry, and principally in the USA. These chemicals were designed to kill pests and weeds and maximize crop yields.

What struck me most forcefully in reading the accounts of one disaster after another was the sheer toxicity of the chemicals used. Today we quite understandably worry about the insidious nature of environmental pollution. How tiny amounts can accumulate over time in our bodies. And this certainly was happening back in the 50s as well. But the effects of crop spraying could be almost immediate. A plane would fly over, spraying the fields (and residential areas, towns, lakes, rivers – it was often “blanket” spraying of entire areas) and within hours, people would find their yards full of dead and dying birds. The chemicals killed the target insects…. and everything else, even pets and livestock. And since they killed all the things that ate the insects, sooner or later the pests would return, often in greater numbers than before.

Lots of people, ordinary people as well as scientists, were aware of these disasters. But Carson’s book seems to have acted as a channel or a catalyst for action. Much of the protest and action against pollution, as well as the legislation that was enacted to limit or ban the use of these chemical, stemmed from Carson’s book.

Reading it after all these years triggered a lot of thoughts. Memories of growing up in an industrial landscape scarred by mining and heavy industry. Becoming aware of the natural world – and of the threats that it faced from pollution. The struggle of the young environmental movement against well funded business interests. The slow but real progress that was made in banning the most toxic of the chemicals and of indiscriminate spraying.

But there was also a sense of weariness as we see today the same struggles having to be made. Legislation and norms to protect people are being rolled back.

And I was deeply struck by the Afterword in my edition. Written in 1998 by Linda Lear, it details how fiercely Carson was attacked at the time. The chemical lobby threatened to sue to prevent publication. They financed an expensive PR campaign to discredit Carson. It will come as no surprise that her gender was a focus for attack, she was, after all, a “hysterical woman”. One critic wrote that: “Silent Spring … kept reminding me of trying to win an argument with a woman. It cannot be done.” I suppose that’s a sort of compliment, though hardly intended as such. Tellingly, Carson was a “fanatic defender of the cult of the balance of nature” and (of course) she kept cats…. Some things, it seems, never change.

But despite those attacks, this important book did change minds and did usher in a new awareness and a willingness to act, even at the highest political levels. Things may look pretty bleak at the moment but I like to hope that the ultimate message of this book is that the hard difficult truth can, when presented with eloquent passion, change the world.

A Thank You to The Grief Well!

I just wanted to say thank you to Tracy Chalmers and Willow Meili of The Grief Well. I’ve just completed a six-month course of facilitator training: “A six-month embodied journey to cultivate the skills for holding space and witnessing grief.”

I’ve enjoyed the course and especially interacting with Tracy and Willow and all the participants. I feel much more confident about leading grief groups, grief cafés, grief circles now. Specifically I want to focus on earth or eco grief and the sense of loss we are feeling as we witness climate change.

My first event will take place on 5 March this year: “Making Space for Climate Grief“. I doubt if I would have been able to do this without the resources that the course has given me.

So thank you again and I’m sure we will collaborate again soon!

Michael, 16 Feb 2026

Climate grief – finding a space to talk

In March this year it will be seven years since I started to work as a funeral celebrant. Recently I have been examining how I can use some of the skills I’ve acquired to make a change of direction. Specifically I want to look at creating events where people feel able to talk about the grief and anxiety they feel about climate change and environmental loss – eco grief.

Most people are well aware that things are not right with our world. Of course, many folk “deny” that the climate is changing…. or accept that it is but refuse to believe that we have any part in it. But I think that deep down we mostly do accept the evidence we can see all around us, and recognize that our way of life has led to this.

But this is frightening and overwhelming. Last year the UK government published a report on national security and biodiversity. I write “published” but in fact they were pressured into doing so by a freedom of information request as the Guardian’s George Monbiot reports. Without that pressure the report might never have surfaced. Its opening line is “Global ecosystem degradation and collapse threaten UK national security and prosperity. [likelihood: HIGH]”. Monbiot suggests that this report has been compiled by the joint intelligence committee. I’ve no idea who might sit on such a committee but I suspect not too many blue-haired vegan wokerati (sadly). And they speak of “national security” and even…(whisper it) “prosperity” being threatened. Now that is serious.

But it always feels like it’s just too much. So that when we most need to act, we can’t. We feel overwhelmed.

I wonder if maybe, as well as data and information and argument, we need to explore how we feel about this. Admit that we feel overwhelmed. Or scared. Or bewildered. Just acknowledging these feelings can sometimes be a prelude to action. It can help us feel less alone and isolated.

But how to do this? I’m aiming to run some climate or eco “grief circles”, initially on Zoom. These offer a safe and non-judgmental space where people can talk about their feelings. It could be sadness at the loss of something local and personal like a wood or a green space in a town. It could be that sick feeling you get at 3am when you wonder if the world itself is dying. And it could also (and this is important too) be the feeling of joy and renewal that you feel in nature, by the sea, listening to the birds.

To help in this work I’ve been studying with a team in Canada – Tracy Chalmers and Willow Meili of the Grief Well. Over the past few months they have been helping me translate the skills I’ve acquired as a celebrant. Talking to friends and families of people who have died, when grief is very raw and yet action is required in arranging a funeral that will honour and mourn their loss. Adapting those skills to help facilitate groups where people are experiencing profound pain at the loss of their worlds.

This is new for me but I’m ready to start and here are the details of my first event, scheduled for 5 March.

In the meantime I’d love to hear your thoughts on this or any aspect of eco or climate grief. Please contact me here.

Portuguese wildfires – land, loss, identity

As part of my shift to working with the grief that stems from environmental loss, I recently interviewed my friend Rita Freitas. We were both students on the University of Glasgow’s End of Life Studies MSc programme. Rita is from Portugal. She lives in Lisbon but has a house in a rural area of the country called Castelo Branco.

This summer the village was threatened by wildfires. Mercifully the village itself emerged undamaged but all around were scenes of devastation. Trees, crops, vines, beehives, livestock pets…. terrible losses.

I asked if I could interview Rita and I have made our conversation into a little video. In it, Rita explains how these were not just material losses. They deeply affected these communities that are so connected to the land. Ancient fruit trees and vines can never be replaced. They represent something of the very identity of the people.

Here is the video. It is my tribute to the communities affected by the fires and my way to acknowledge their loss.

(As legendas estão disponíveis em português.)

Praising the mutilated world

We are living in dark times.

As a man of 66, I can say that much of my life has seen “dark times”. I remember as a little boy, looking at a photo of an elephant mutilated by poachers. I couldn’t quite understand then what I was seeing in the magazine my mum had bought to nurture my love of animals. I remember at school watching a film about the death of a polluted river. I remember, vaguely, the unease we felt about Silent Spring. There was a hole in the ozone layer. Acid rain. And now, half a century later we watch the continued descent of our world with mounting horror.

And the temptation is to run away. Switch off the damned news. Take solace in the wide range of anaesthetics available today. For a time, especially in this most difficult year, I have done just that. I have, after all, my own worries and my own peace of mind to consider.

But the niggling whispers don’t go away. Suffragettes and Stonewall rioters. Rainbow Warriors. Older voices. Calling us to remember something I heard at a Upaya Centre talk just this weekend:

WE WERE MADE FOR THIS WORK.

So…. what can I do? A 66 year old semi-retired man from Scotland who looks after his mother. Well, six of those years I have spent as a funeral celebrant: working with grief, channelling grief, giving voice to grief. But also praising and celebrating lives. Perhaps I have learned something in those years that I might apply to a wider world of grief – dying glaciers, dying communities, dying democracies. Is there still something to praise in this mutilated world?

It’s worth a try.

Portrait by Paul Connell, Derravaragh Studios

Dundee Crematorium is fully open again

I’ve just conducted a funeral service at Dundee Crematorium. It’s the first I have done there since it re-opened recently. I had previously written to say that the chapel was closed for ceremonies. This was for refurbishment of the chapel itself – the cremation facilities themselves were unaffected and an arrangement was in place for families to hold services in a nearby hotel.

Now I can report that things are completely back to normal and everything is fully functional again.

Michael Hannah, Broughty Ferry, December 2024