Children’s Funeral Costs

Carolyn Harris Excerpts

Monday 28th November 2016 Commons Chamber

[Carolyn Harris (Swansea East) (Lab)]

On 5 June 1989, my little world blacked over and nothing was to be the same again. My eight-year-old son, Martin—a bright, beautiful and wonderful little boy—stepped out onto the road and was tragically knocked down. Much of what happened over the following weeks was and still is a blur.

The pain is so acute and the sensation incomprehensible. The tragedy seems almost surreal. At times I felt I was floating above the room where all this grief was dwelling and that I was not really a part of what was going on. It was a dream—I wished.

Mostly, I felt my life was a bank holiday when shops shut and mail was not delivered and the milkman did not come, so seeing people outside my little world going about their normal everyday business just did not seem right. I asked myself, did they not know that the world had come to an end? I always felt that my brain and my senses were full of cotton wool or clouds and nothing I saw, or I sensed, or I heard or I experienced resonated. It did not hit a hard surface—nothing registered; it just floated around in my head.

I have a vague recollection of chatting with my vicar and the undertaker about the kind of service I wanted. I may well have been given prices at that time, but considering I needed to be told to wash and eat and sleep, it certainly did not register in my brain. I understand retrospectively that a cremation would have been cheaper than a burial, but I had to bury my son.

At the time I was making a decision on the funeral, I was actually deciding whether to join my son on the other side or not; or to stay for Stuart, my then three-year-old who really needed his mam. I calculated—and I use that word deliberately—as I actually sat in the bath and assessed which of my two children needed me the most. I eventually reasoned that Stuart, who was only three, could not lose his mam and brother all in one go. My much loved grandparents were buried together in Morriston cemetery, now in my constituency, and I felt that putting Martin in the grave with them meant that my nana, who loved him dearly, was there to look after him until I could be with him again. 

I had to bury my little boy. At least that gave me some peace of mind. Later in life I went on to have another child, Tomas, who is now 15. Stuart, my three-year-old, is now 31, and he and his wife have given me a wonderful grandson, Liam, so I made the right decision in not joining Martin and staying with Stuart, but mothers will understand the position I was in. We all live for our children: when you lose one, you have to decide who needs you the most.

We all want to give our children the skills to help them build good lives. We want to give our children the latest toy, the latest gadget. We want to give them the best of everything. As young parents, we save for Christmas and birthdays to allow us to do that, but when you lose a child, the only thing you can give them is a funeral and a grave. I am told that my son had a wonderful funeral. I cannot remember much about it because my world was black and nothing had resonated in my mind. I could not function, as I have said. I could not do simple chores like washing my hair or cooking a meal.

When the undertaker was explaining to me what the plans for my little boy’s funeral were, I just wanted to hold my little boy, not bury him. I remember the day the bill arrived and that fear in my stomach as to how I would pay it. My husband David and I come from a community who reacted to loss in the only way they knew how—they had a whip-round, a collection. Out of the blue two of David’s mates—I can see them now standing at my front door, not knowing whether to come in or run away—turned up with an envelope of money. Thank God for my community and thank God for my friends, because that collection was enough to cover three quarters of the funeral cost. The following day my husband went to his bank and asked for the other £750 and the bank said yes, so I had the money for the funeral.

I have chosen to share my story at this time because I am in a position to be the voice of bereaved parents.  Approximately 5,000 babies and children pass away each year in this country, and it is not something any parent can or could be prepared for. No one expects to bury their children; it is completely in the wrong order. So when that tragedy happens, parents will be totally unprepared, both emotionally and financially. Since I first spoke out on this issue, I have received support from colleagues across the House. I have received emails, calls and letters from other parents who are in a similar position to me.

A member of the House staff stopped me to say that he and his wife lost an 18-month-old baby and his local authority charged him for an adult funeral. He had to battle that local authority to get the cost reduced. Another gentleman wrote that he had lost two children, a one-year-old and a 17-year-old. This man told me that he was ashamed to ask for help to cover the funeral costs as he had wanted to give that to his children. Today I learned of a couple who had a very premature baby who passed away after four weeks in special care. When the parents weighed up the cost of a funeral, they just could not afford it so they had to leave the baby for the NHS to deal with. That is not uncommon.

A teacher told me that when her school lost a pupil, it held a non-school uniform day to help parents pay for the funeral. Just tonight CLIC Sargent, the cancer charity, contacted me about a survey that it has undertaken in connection with issues that most concern the parents of children with cancer, and many say that paying for the funeral is a very big worry. I was told of one family whose little boy’s football club undertook fund-raising to help them cover the cost of a funeral.

Across local authorities, fees for children’s funerals vary greatly. On a more compassionate note, I have heard from a mum who lost very, very premature twin babies, and Rhondda Cynon Taf, an authority in Wales, not only covered the local authority fees but absorbed the total cost of the funeral. To Rhondda Cynon Taf, authorities that currently do not charge and those that are planning to scrap fees, I say from the bottom of my heart thank you.

It is a very small amount of money that I am asking the Government to put in. For £10 million, the fees for children’s funerals could be covered right across the country. This is an easy and a small ask, but it would impact greatly on the cost of a funeral and in no small way give comfort to bereaved parents. At Prime Minister’s questions recently the Prime Minister suggested that the social fund could be used to help, but I say to the Prime Minister that at the darkest moment of a parent’s life, I could not even fill a kettle, let alone fill in a 35-page application form. I have subsequently written to the Prime Minster asking that she consider my request, but I have not yet received a reply.

I conclude by saying to the Minister please do this. Make this happen. It is the right thing to do, it is the respectful thing to do, and it is the compassionate thing to do.