https://rip.ie/family-notices/reverend-dr-stanley-monkhouse-dublin-31009

Hello, all.

Just a quick note that we are having a memorial service for Dad this Thursday in St. Ann’s, Dawson Street, Dublin 2.

We have no expectations, but all are very welcome to attend.

We’ll have some nice readings, solid hymns and another special eulogy.

They’ll be a collection for the Simon Community. The Funeral Collection for Burton YMCA ended up in excess of £ 1,300. Very well done, everyone!

No tea and coffee in the Church afterwards – we’re sure the wardens are busy enough at this time of year – but we shall pop over to the Swan (D02 RW67) afterwards for pizzas and drinks. For old times sake, as it were.

Best, Ed & Victoria

Just a quick note from Ed on behalf of the family. We were so humbled by the wonderful turnout for dad’s funeral. We all agree that it was a wonderful service and a triumphantly fitting send-off for Stanley. Thank you to all who made it possible. Here, as promised, is the Eulogy for Stanley, written by Rev. Rod Prince. We are forever indebted to him.

How does a disciple bid a fitting farewell to his guru?  By following the instructions of his teacher – so,  Briefly! Say, if you must what you must, don’t dither! (dithering was a cardinal sin in Stanley’s book) and sit down. In fact, to quote one of Stanley’s oft used acronyms JFDI!

I am not going to give a biography – “you can Google that later” was an interjection from Stanley when it was more important to stick to the theme. As one tribute said “Very few distinguish themselves in more than one field. Some occasionally in two but rarely in three or four”. Stanley was a man of many talents. He was a brilliant academic, a Professor of Anatomy, the author of standard texts in his field, a gifted musician.  He was a Fellow of the Royal College of Organists, an exceptional communicator, an inspiring mentor, a firm friend and dedicated pastor.

Stanley sought for others what he quested for himself – fullness of life which he firmly believed was impossible without a spirituality nourished by great art, music, architecture, literature, inspiring liturgy and seemly worship. In one of his comments on “Thinking Anglicans” a blog to which he often contributed, he wrote “I have spent a lifetime nurturing adolescents and young adults, provoking them to think, freeing them to set the world alight in their chosen field. So, it appalls me that some church people use their positions of trust and influence to stifle, to repress, and to maim, rather than to liberate to life abundant. Jesus came to abolish religion. This so affects me that I weep as I type”. Stanley was keen to drill into all the newly ordained that Jesus came to abolish religion.  He was clear that a priest’s calling is always first to the divine and only then, a long way behind, to the institution.

It has been remarked that Stanley pricked pomposity. He didn’t, he detonated it wherever he found it.  Status, rank, title – as a number of bishops discovered – and wealth accorded no advantage or protection in Stanley’s eyes. Everyone was equally of interest and equally interesting. Central to his calling as a priest was the responsibility of the ordained to “Comfort the disturbed and to disturb the comfortable”.  Unfairly, he was more recognised for the latter activity than the former, yet I want share with you part of another tribute to Stan. The writer said” Memories of him are plentiful but the one that remains strongest does not come from his intellectual or academic brilliance, both of which were considerable, but of a passing moment when he was not even aware that he was being observed. Walking down the corridor of a hospital ward, I caught a glimpse of him beside a bed in one of the bays. He was knelt on the floor with his back toward me. The patient in the bed was very ill and he did not drain the patient’s strength by trying to talk to them, instead he just knelt there holding the person’s hand. Once, sometime later, I spoke to him of it. He dismissed it as nothing, as simply a passing whim, but however he might have downplayed the moment, it was something of profound significance. One does not kneel on the floor of a busy hospital ward, with people coming and going, and hold the hand of a person without that moment being imbued with significance. Jesus would have understood that moment. Jesus would have understood the importance of taking someone by the hand.”  That said, of course,  he was especially gifted at disturbing the comfortable.  He took a funeral of a wealthy man in what is considered to be a wealthy parish.  There were many “Nice” – the word was damming in Stan’s eyes – people present.  Fixing them with his gimlet stare he said “One day we will all end up in a box and looking out it won’t be long for some of you”.  They loved it.  One elderly gentleman said to Stan that he would have attended church more often if more sermons had been like that.  Stanley blamed the poor communication skills of priests for the syndrome of congregations leaving their brains in the porch.  If stimulating thought meant abrading the sensitivities especially of Middle Englanders then Stanley deemed it a small price to be paid.  In a sermon at Wirksworth he said that as a former Professor of Anatomy he was fascinated to know the biological processes in operation in the uterus of the Blessed Virgin Mary at the moment of the conception of Our Lord. I think we still have a bottle of smelling salts in a cupboard in the back of church against future eventualities.  His theological discussion evenings on a range of themes at Wirksworth and in his later parishes were enthusiastically attended even by several declared agnostics and atheists.   You were never given “the official line” or a stock answer by Stanley; all questions were welcome and usually met with a question that encouraged you to explore possible solutions for yourself.  Through his blog “Rambling Rector” Stanley’s original approach to theology became known well beyond his parishes.  The topics were many and various and he gained a wide following for his blog.  I am delighted that the family have undertaken to ensure that it does not disappear from general access. Indeed, his blog brought him to the attention of no lesser trade publication than the Church Times who interviewed him for their back-page interview entitled “Stanley Monkhouse, anatomist, vicar, and musician” – “you can Google that later”.  The last question of the interview was always “Who would you like to be shut up in a church with?” His response was classic Stanley.  “I wouldn’t choose to be locked in a church with Jesus. He’d never give a straight answer, and he’d be saying to me, as he said to his mates, “Good grief, haven’t you got it yet?” I’ll go for the Dalai Lama and Rabbi Jonathan Sacks. Eugene Peterson‘s The Message is fantastic; so perhaps he could join us.”  Even in my short time in the Church, even shorter after this eulogy, I have come to realise that there are few things that the Church – embracing all denominations – can be relied upon to do well.  One decision the Diocese of Derby got right was to appoint Stanley as a Deputy Director of Ordinands.  Stan’s experience in academia nurturing young people was a blessing to many on their path to ordination. 

I have briefly touched on the subject of Stanley and his bishops.  As I have no plans whatsoever for a career in the church, here goes!  Stanley’s bishop in Ireland once remarked that “Every diocese should have a Stanley” note the singular.  Presumably thoughts of more than one Stanley per diocese occasioned episcopal visions of ecclesiastical meltdown.  I have sometimes daydreamed on what a diocese with Stanley as a bishop would have been like.  I find it difficult to know whether to laugh or cry as the scenario develops before me. Rest assured, it would not have been bland. Smelling salts in Church House would certainly have been an essential fixture. Surprisingly, in general, Stanley had respect for the bishops under whom he served unless or until they gave him cause to think otherwise.  If you, as a bishop, received regular emails from him, you had his respect.  Well, discretion and an instinctive drive for self-preservation bids me stop here on that subject.

Stanley did not do sentimentality, least of all in matters of faith.  Always in his target sights was the notion of God as the Sky Pixie who existed solely to hear our shopping list of self-centred prayers and to grant our selfish whims. He firmly believed that the path to the divine required the sacrifice of ego.  For him, the agony of Our Lord in the Garden of Gethsemane was a pivotal instruction on the Christian life.

The past was the past with Stanley.  As I said, he was not a sentimentalist – a realist certainly – but true to his belief in the achievement of fullness of life was that the past should not be allowed to burden the present.  “Eternal life is a state of mind and eternal life is now” He said.  One story illustrates this view well. Stanley became the Director of Music for a church in Ireland.  It’s previous and much-loved director had died. Several people had tried unsuccessfully to take on the role but the choir were stuck in the past. Enter Stanley.  On arriving at a practice, the choir were taken aback to see that the picture of their beloved former director had been turned to the wall.  When they had all assembled, Stanley looked up from his music and said “He is dead. It is time to move on”.  Hard though it is, brothers and sisters, I believe that is also Stanley’s message to us today.

Stanley loved his family beyond measure and above all else. He never recovered from the catastrophe of the death of Hugh, his elder son, eight years ago. Susan, Ed and Victoria – you were his rock, his strength, his first love.  To see Stanley with you and Shane was to see him in the fullness of life, shamelessly witty, hugely funny, truly happy and gloriously outrageous.  He loved you deeply.

There was only one area on which Stanley and I differed – it was on the issue of everlasting life.  Stanley was to put it mildly, sceptical – he strongly disliked what he saw as a popular notion that attendance at church was an exercise in the accumulation of sky pixie points guaranteeing a seat in the club class of everlasting life.  I took a more optimistic view.  Just this once, please God, let Stanley be wrong!

“Keep buggering on.”

It is Thursday, August 31^st. I am in mum (& dads) sitting room in Burton, England.

Dad died of a suspected heart attack at approximately 11:30 am on Friday, August 11^th, 2023. Gone before his laptop hit the floor. Poor mum had to administer CPR while on the phone to 999.

After approximately 10 minutes, the paramedics arrived and worked on dad for about 30 minutes. Mum sent me a message on Skype at 11:52 that read “Ed. Dad’s had a heart attack. Ambulance here”.

I then received an email from her at 11:53 with the subject line “Dad” and message reading “Heart attack ambulance here now.x”

By the time I got through on Skype, having tried the home phone, mum had to tell me that he had died. I stayed on Skype with her, while she spoke with the Paramedic, with various other voices in the background. Details were confirmed, full name, date of birth, medications, medical history, name of GP & surgery, funeral director etc. So, if you have anyone die and need to know these things, be sure to have sorted out all the details, and learnt verbatim, so that you can regurgitate them in a time of tremendous shock and trauma.

At this juncture, I’d like to strongly recommend that in addition to having a will, and knowing where the original hardcopy actually is, we should all of us leave behind a 2-page summary of things for those left behind. Dad has left a comprehensive list of things we’ll need to know. Dads was called “If Stanley dies before Susan”. This included the following instruction:

“My Funeral

Burn me. Do just as you wish – church or no church, whatever suits you and helps you most. If you want to send me straight to the gas ovens without church and collect the ashes after the party (if you have one), fine. I’m not that fussy what you do with the ashes, but after you’ve finished sticking two fingers up at them, scattering where where I/we scattered Hugh’s seems as good as anything.”

I digress.

The rest of the day was spent contacting people, checking in with mum and making travel plans. Ringing Abby a little after 9:30 am Texas time was not an easy call to make, especially coming 4 days after her 18^th birthday. Victoria and I left Dublin that evening on the 20:55 sailing to Holyhead and arrived in Burton at approximately 4 am on Saturday 12^th August.

The purpose of this note, dear reader, is to report to you the many mishaps that befell Rev’d Dr. Stanley Monkhouse’s mortal remains in the days thereafter. Please forgive me then, if your own starring role is quickened while I rush through the details.

As I type this on the morning of Thursday 31 August 2023, we are 1 week away from the arranged date of the funeral. The order of service is finalised (I have a physical copy in front of me, which is decidedly odd), many travel plans have been made. Some have made known their desire and plans to attend, while others have expressed their great sorrow at not being able to attend. All of this is lovely, and we have no expectations of anyone. We hope for a suitable send-off for S(a)tan {as He once referred to himself}, our Husband/father/granddad. Or Ex-professor ‘Father’ dad. Or colleague, friend, agitator, radiator, etc. Whichever fits you best.

Without further ado, let’s get to it.

August 11^th. Friday. Death called by Paramedics at his home, while he was lying on his couch. A report is sent to Gordon Street Surgery. Mortal remains collected at approx. 3pm and taken to the Mortuary.

August 12^th. Saturday. We ring the 24-hour number to arrange an appointment to see Dad’s remains ASAP. I pointed out to the voice on the line, that if they only open at 9am on Monday, then having an appointment for 9am will not give anyone time to prepare. The voice realised this was a good point, but then confirmed they were open from 8:30am.

August 14^th. Monday. Gloria and I visit mortal remains at Wellings Funeral Services, Burton-Upon-Trent. We meet our funeral director, Sam, who had worked with dad in his role as Vicar. We have only the best things to say about Wellings and especially Samantha Platt. <Just then, the quiet is broken as 4 more cards are delivered through the door, the dog kicks off. The postman looks decidedly unbothered as his strokes his long beard. Mum has now received in excess of 70 cards. Thank you all.> Before seeing dad, Sam is at pains to point out that has he died on Friday, he is “as is”.

We visit. His face looks peaceful. He is no longer with us. That is certain.

Afterwards, Sam tells us a little about what we can expect in the days and weeks ahead. Some of the information was provided then, some of it later, but in summary; He is likely to need a Post-mortem scan (non-invasive) if the GP is unable or unwilling to sign-off on the cause of death. If the Coroner and the Pathologist are content, the scan will suffice and hopefully prevent the need for an invasive autopsy. If all is in order, this will trigger (A) official release of the remains for cremation, or burial to the Funeral Director, and (B) set the ball rolling on the coroner contacting the registrar so that an appointment can be made (‘in the Library’, as everyone keeps saying) so that mum can register his death.

How does this all work:  

1. Well, if the GP is unable or unwilling to sign-off on the cause of death, then,
2. The remains must be transported to Queens Hospital by the mortuary / funeral director, when informed, as
3. The coroner likes to have them ‘ready to go’, so to speak, so as to prevent any unnecessary waiting times in their processing.
4. The coroner arranges transportation of the remains from the Hospital to the scanning location.
5. The coroner arranges the return, post scan, to the Hospital.
6. The funeral director can then return dad to their care and get on with things.

August 16^th. Wednesday. Sam rings to confirm that Gordon Street Surgery is dad’s GP. I am unsure. Mum is out. We look for a clue (having been unable to access Dad’s computer as the fall seemingly broke it). I can imagine dad being annoyed at our random approach to things as it turned out all the information was already close to hand. I ring my top suspect for Dad’s GP. I have to answer some questions to confirm his identity before they will confirm that he is indeed a patient. I inform them that he died on Friday. I pass the message on to Sam. Then the phone rings, and Gemma from the practice needs more information as it is the first they are hearing that dad has died. A while later, a GP, rings back to advise us that they had found the paramedics (or hospital – I’m no expert) report from the Friday that advised of his death. I can only assume they missed it as they were getting ready to leave for the weekend. We have lost 2 days in our already long English funeral timeline.  The GP informs that the required paperwork has now been dispatched to the coroner. ‘Sorry for the delay..’, etc.

Now things get muddy. We enter a wormhole of administrative blunders and cockups. We are expecting Dad – now on the coroner’s radar – can enter steps 2 and 3 above.

August 21^st. Monday. Gloria and I attend an appointment with our Funeral director, to confirm particulars. Can I just say that some of the coffins and flowers that one can purchase when someone dies are hilarious. Also, the fact that brochures for these things even exist is a peculiar necessity of death. We are informed of a delay. The coroner does not have the information they need. We ask should we pop round and sort it out with the GP. Then we receive confirmation that all the required information has been received. We leave the appointment somewhat uplifted by this change in the state of affairs.

August 22^nd, Tuesday. Dad has now been in a freezer for 11 nights. It has come to our attention that the coroner does not have all the information they need. Crossed wires yesterday. Pity. It seems they emailed the GP to ask for a reason why the GP was unable/unwilling to sign-off on a cause of death. It seems that if you’ve not been to the GP in the 2 weeks prior then it prevents them from doing so. So, if you don’t expect to die and are not planning to, be sure to visit your GP to get a pre-death check-up. Assuming you can get an appointment, that is. Ba-dum-tisk. So, somewhere an email was either sent, or not sent, sent and not received, sent and received and ignored. Who can say. We’ve just loaded up the car with stuff to take to the skip. Team A (me) is going to empty the car. Team B (mum and Gloria) are going to the GP practice. The boot of my car will not shut – that’s fine. Cars can operate with their boot open. Well, they used to. Not now. The car enters emergency mode while I’m on the roundabout and the smell of burning is horrid.  We are all livid. I am raging. I empty the car and make a beeline for the GP surgery. As I arrive, mum and Gloria are getting in the car. Words were said, a promise of a phone call is forthcoming. I am beyond livid. More rage. I park the car. Storm passed the Jags, Mercs and Teslas near the staff door and head for reception. “I don’t care if they arrest me..”

The poor receptionist. I felt terrible for her as I’m holding back the tears while visibly shaking demanding to see the practice manager. Why, she asks? “Why? Dad has been in a freezer for 12 days because this practice is incompetent.” I am informed that the secretary is looking into it and will call us. “That’s not good enough. I am not leaving here until we are seen.” Proper dad move, that.  We wait, I sit reluctantly. Patients are seen, Paddington-esque ‘Hard stares’ all over the place. The receptionist pops her head round to see if we are still sitting there. We are. I get up, walk over to see who is now involved in hushed conversations behind the glass.  Time passes. Feels like a lifetime. We are seen. The practice manager, no less. Once in the treatment room, we relay the situation, as we understand it. Gloria demands she ring the coroner immediately so that they can clear this up. She points out that we all know it’s a heart attack so let’s stop mucking about.  I hear words that are starting to sound like excuses on emails etc. so I shut that down. We do not care who is at fault, we just want dad to have his autopsy and we can move on with his death, and our lives. The practice manager rings the funeral director. We are still in the room. A while later, as pennies start to drop, the practice manager tells us her plan and we reluctantly concede. She apologises. We leave, expecting a phone call within the next few hours. Later, the phone call does occur in the middle of an airport run. We can take a breath. Some order is restored, information is passed, and dad can finally move on to stage 3.

August 23^rd, Wednesday. Dad is on his way to the Hospital to join the scanning queue. Hooray. Word is that the scan will be completed before the weekend and the pathologist will review when next in (as they typically attend on Tuesdays and Thursdays).

August 25^th, Friday. I place three calls to the coroner without success. It’s a long weekend here – perhaps she’s tied up with other things or on a day off.

August 29^th. Tuesday. Dad has now been in various freezers and vans for 18 nights and we are no closer to getting (a) permission or (b) ability to register his death. (A and B as above). I ring the coroner to get an update on the scan and the pathologists report. I am informed that due to transportation issues (a van out of action and was someone off sick? I don’t recall), dad is still in the hospital and the scan has not yet occurred. I am informed that he will be taken for scanning tomorrow.

August 31^st. Thursday.  Today. Dad freezer time now sitting on 20 days. Cause of death – unofficially, obviously a bloody heart attack. Permission to bury/cremate? Pending results of autopsy and confirmation of cause of death.

I rang the coroner at 9:58. Our chat was a little like this,

C: I was just about to ring you, Mr Monkhouse (Mr Monkhouse?? That’s my father! Wakka wakka). He was taken for the scan in Stoke yesterday, but the machine broke somewhere between the other persons scan, and dad being prepared for his scan. They sent him back to the Hospital unscanned. They apologise and are waiting on some technicians to….

What would we like to do? Would we like to ask the pathologist to see if they were willing to proceed with an invasive post-mortem when they come in tomorrow?

E: <long seething silence> I don’t know. We’re all furious. Everything that could have gone wrong, seemingly has. If the scanner in Stoke is broken, then no one is getting scanned?

C: That’s correct.

E: Does the scanning place perhaps have another scanner they could put him through then?

C: Well, yes – there is another one at Sandwell.

E: Oh, where is that?

C: Near Nottingham.

E. (!!!) Right, well get on to them and see if they can do it – and if you’ve any more issues with your transportation, ask Wellings to do it. The funeral is next Thursday, and we need to get his resolved.

I contact Sam and let her know what is the latest. She kindly confirms that they’ll do whatever they can to help facilitate the scan.

10:55. The coroner rings back to confirm with me who the funeral director is (!).

11:08. The coroner ring back to confirm that Sandwell will do the scan and that Wellings will take him over today, wait with him, and bring him back. 4, 5 and 6! Incredible. I am told that paperwork from the scan will be with the coroner’s office later today.  I ask the coroner to please confirm with me when that paperwork has arrived with the coroner.

There are no words! I hope dad is enjoying this maddeningly frustrating comedy of errors from his icebox.

I’d like to say that this was all we were dealing with, aside from the grief that we’re supposed to be processing, whichever guise that presents.

But there has been plenty of other drama, mishaps and modern-day nonsense going on too. But that’s a story for another day.

Best wishes,

Ed

Rest in Peace.

https://rip.ie/death-notice/reverend-dr-stanley-monkhouse-dublin-527543: The death has occurred of Reverend Dr Stanley Monkhouse