I thought this might be of interest:
A Letter from Jo Browning Wroe
Dear Readers,
In hindsight, living the first twelve years of my life in the grounds of a crematorium, with hearses rolling past our kitchen window every twenty minutes, I may have been more naturally inclined than others to get up close and personal to the world of embalming. Just as my sister and I knew to jump
over, not on, the blue-grey scattered ashes, these softly spoken men in long black coats were part of life. I saw and understood, long before I could articulate it, that their role was to alleviate distress and that they did this with respect, gentleness and a sense of duty.
‘I saw and understood, long before I could articulate it, that their role was to alleviate distress and that they did this with respect, gentleness and a sense of duty.’
Decades later, when I came across an account of the embalmers’ role in the aftermath of the Aberfan disaster, I had an immediate, emotional response to want to tell their story. The issue was never whether there was a story to be told, but whether I could tell it well enough, whilst also respecting the people of Aberfan.
Inevitably this is a book with moments of extreme sadness, a state of being we’ve all become more attuned to of late, I think.
‘Ultimately this is, I hope, a story about family – those we’re born with and those we make – and the extraordinary power of love and friendship to restore and sustain us.’
Yet because as a child I experienced the funeral business as palpably kind, suffused with keen senses of humour, I very much hope these qualities also flavour the story. Ultimately this is, I hope, a story about family – those we’re born with and those we make – and the extraordinary power of love and friendship to restore and sustain us.
Jo Browning Wroe