The title ‘How to Choose the Music for your Children’s Funeral’ sounds, I have to admit, a bit like click bait, but After Weeks 2 and 3, the earthy order of events, the ceremonies of death, the rituals of passing had to be faced up to, whether we were up for it or not.  And that included choosing the music for their funeral.

I feel sure that, should we have been rendered utterly incapable of doing it ourselves, the Church of England would have nobly stepped in. Times like your kid’s funeral, that’s what a parish vicar’s for, right? Even if we weren’t actually part of his parishional flock or had ever met him before.

The C of E would have, I’m sure, plumped for one of the firm favourites in the order of service guidebook to funeral music – hymns to be heartily sung ‘after Opening Prayers or interspersed throughout the service’ – I quote. Hymns like ‘He who would valiant be (To be a pilgrim)’ or the equally rousing ‘Lord of all hopefulness’. Something solemn, stirring, if a tad bombastic.

But we didn’t want that, we knew that for sure, because Beth would never have allowed it. Ever.

However, annoyingly, neither of them had had the foresight to leave us a last will and testament or any written instructions or guidance on their desired ceremonial proceedings or, more to the point, any musical directions.  

Other than one.

Wind back time just a handful of weeks (to Sunday 10 January 2016, to be precise) and we were driving over the Pennines to take them to MAN Terminal 1, with their South East Asia backpacks safely stowed in the boot of the car.

Trace was in the front, I was driving, Beth and Izzy were in the back.

As we crossed Ladybower dam and met the snaking curve of the hills that rise and descent towards Manchester, Beth started one of her ever familiar macabre banters – her effervescent, surreal, mind churning conversation openers. Memorable other openers included ‘would you rather have a monkey’s arms or a monkey’s brain?’

‘If we die when we’re travelling, I want you to play Highway to Hell at my funeral.’

‘Play what?’ I said.

‘AC/DC, Highway to Hell.’

At that point, in what was typical of me ‘Before’, I totally switched off.  It was a stupid, pointless conversation anyway. Silly, ridiculous thing to think about. Disengage with the conversation. Drift off. Think about something or nothing.

Thus, self-muted, I have no recollection whatsoever of what Izzy offered up, if she offered up anything at all, which I’m sure she did. I just concentrated on driving the car over the winding Snake Pass. Stupid conversation. Focus on the here and now, the steering wheel, brake, accelerate, brake, accelerate. Bloody hills.

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Looking back at it now, the music we ended up choosing for their funeral was a vivid and violently spontaneous outpouring of our emotions. Of our unfathomable shock at what was happening. 

But it was also our heartfelt response, felt through our streaming tears and sleepless nights, to their joy and their love of life.

They had so much light, so much life, so much love in them and ahead of them.

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Sorry Beth, we didn’t play Highway to Hell. 

So, readers, go play it now. 

Go on.

For Beth. 

Play it loud.

Play it very, very loud.