Rupert Callender - What Remains?: Life, Death, Ritual and the Human Art of Undertaking

Praise forWhat Remains?

This book is a great work of craft and beauty, truth and humanity, heart and soul. I believe it could be used as a teaching tool and as a comfort. I find Callenders approach to this huge subject deeply loving and moving, but also revolutionary in spirit and courageous.

SALENA GODDEN, author of Mrs Death Misses Death

A truly extraordinary book. It is like nothing else Ive ever read, or thought I needed. Heartful of the ferocious, transcendent power of love and wonder; it is deeply profound, funny, and wholly and radically moving. What Remains? reveals life in the presence of death, as alchemy; as glorious and thoughtful ritual. Bright and dark and glittering as a funeral pyre, its embers are lasting, life-affirming, life-changing, death facing and unflinching.

NICOLA CHESTER, Wainwright-shortlisted author of On Gallows Down

This moving, angry and funny book isnt just about an odd career ushering people off to join the Silent Majority, but a beautiful guide to how to live, grieve and remember well.

LUKE TURNER, author of Out of the Woods; co-founder, The Quietus

A remarkable book. One of the most important books of our age. It had me laughing and crying by turns, sometimes both at the same time, and each page brought a new revelation, a new insight, a new understanding of what it means to be human in this beautiful world, in this strange moment we are passing through.

Its a book destined to join the greats of counterculture nonfiction, like Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Cosmic Trigger and The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test.

C.J. STONE, author of Fierce Dancing

What Remains? is a profound and vital book that reads less like a memoir and more like a confession. As honest, terrifying and truthful as a mirror at midday, it embraces life and death equally and is too compassionate to flinch. Inspiring and unforgettable.

JOHN HIGGS, author of William Blake vs the World

Rupert Callenders compelling personal story brings us face to face with what he describes as the sharp edge, where life cuts into death: a place our society keeps discreetly under wraps, but which we will all visit sooner or later. An exquisitely sensitive, eloquent and courageous guide to its mysteries and terrors, its ordinariness and its humanity.

MIKE JAY, writer and cultural historian

If there is one book you should read when death comes knocking or you get the sudden urge to build a crop circle in the middle of the night, then this is that book.

I was luckylucky because when my kid brother died suddenly and shockingly, The Green Funeral Company were the local undertakers in his hometown; they even knew him.

They took me to their forest HQ at Dartington Hall, where Simon was laid out on a funeral bier in their chapel of rest like some medieval king.

Later, in the front office by the fire, we talked about building pyres and pyramids in a forest clearing.

In the end, Simons funeral was simple, and better for it.

From crop circles to the Gates of Hell and back again, Rus book will be your guide.

JIMMY CAUTY, The JAMs, K2 Plant Hire

Its extraordinary. Youll laugh, youll cry, your heart will break, your heart will shine, filled with love. Youll be changed. An instant classic.

ROB HOPKINS, author of From What Is to What If

A fascinating insight into Lifes oldest ritual. Dead interesting.

RNN HESSION, author of Leonard and Hungry Paul

Rupert Callender takes us to the dark end of the street, but he does so with wit, beauty and no little experience. Its a one-of-a-kind ride, filled with storytelling. This original and gutsy book will do a lot of good in the world.

MARTIN SHAW, author of Smoke Hole

Vulnerable, raw and moving, this is a book for anyone who strives to die, and live, in an emotionally authentic and honest way. Essential reading. Beautifully written.

LOUISE WINTER, progressive funeral director, coauthor of We All Know How This Ends

WHAT REMAINS?

Life, Death and the Human Art of Undertaking

Rupert Callender

Chelsea Green Publishing

White River Junction, Vermont

London, UK

Copyright 2022 by Rupert Callender.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form by any means without permission in writing from the publisher.

The front cover collage includes images from Janina Pires / EyeEm, Dag Sundberg, and Dwi Pradnyana via Getty Images; Alexan2008, La_Corivo, Boonchuay1970, and shironagasukujira via iStockPhoto; and They Cant Keep Him Hid, by Louis Dalrymple from Puck courtesy of the Art Institute of Chicago.

Commissioning Editor: Jonathan Rae

Project Manager: Angela Boyle

Developmental Editor: Muna Reyal

Copy Editor: Susan Pegg

Proofreader: Anne Sheasby

Designer: Melissa Jacobson

Printed in the United Kingdom.

First printing August 2022.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 122 23 24 25 26

ISBN 978-1-64502-050-9 (UK hardcover) | ISBN 978-1-91529-412-8 (US hardcover) | ISBN 978-1-64502-051-6 (ebook) | ISBN 978-1-64502-052-3 (audio book)

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

Chelsea Green Publishing

85 North Main Street, Suite 120

White River Junction, Vermont USA

Somerset House

London, UK

www.chelseagreen.com

Dedicated to C.J. Stone,
for showing me his
Fierce Dance.

1. Prologue
   One measures a circle beginning anywhere

It wasnt late late, but it was late enough to be conspicuous.

I pulled the car up onto the grass verge, tucked it under the hedge, and turned the engine and the lights off.

The dark rushed in like water.

I breathed out slowly, heart thumping in my ears, and waited, waiting for nothing to happen.

It would have been easier to park in the gateway I had just passed, a hundred yards back along the quiet country lane. Easier but risky. I could be blocked in and credible explanations would, at that point, be very thin on the ground.

Far better to park here and make my way along the edge of the field, ready to run or dive through the hedge at the sight of any approaching headlights.

Logic told me I was being overcautious, that the chances of anyone driving along this rural back lane at 2 a.m. were remote, but things get very atavistic in the dark, even in the gentle English countryside, and the threat was real. There would undoubtedly be anger if I was caught, and very little chance of recourse to the law. Justice would probably be swift and physical.

I stepped out of the car and into the sweet air of a perfectly still summer night. It was mid July, moonless and warm, with clear skies and pinpoint-clear stars everywhere. I looped a plank of wood over my shoulder, the rope that was attached to the plank strapped across my chest, making it look and feel like a quiver of arrows. I put a small bag over my other shoulder, locked the car, hid the keys nearby to avoid any giveaway jangling and started to run quickly up the lane, at my most exposed for this short dash.

I reached the five-bar gate and swiftly clambered over, ducking back behind the hedge at the edge of the field. All good. I consciously exhaled again, deeply. My breathing began to slow.