We left on Sunday, Heather's funeral had been on the Saturday, a long day and a demanding one and a lot of driving. The mass part was in the church of St Michel in St Brieuc, a building which has long tended to give me the horrors, though of more recent times I often parked near to it when I visited her, and came to rather like the quartier. It was very cold in there. Then we made our way up to Paimpol to join the boat which was taking her to be buried on the Île de Bréhat. There are no cars there, and the tiny cemetery, where her eldest daughter is also buried, is at the top of the town. The image of the little red tractor pulling the trailer with the velvet-draped coffin, and a motley band of reasonably solemn but lively people (and one dog, Molly came too) following along behind through the diminutive streets of the island, with its pink rocks and houses, strange warm air, clouds of perfumed flowers and crowds of wondering tourists, is one that will stay with me for a long time.
I'll sort out some photos of the Mont St Michel trip shortly.