Heyer was usually accurate in her writing. I believe she was found to have only made one historical mistake in all her books. She had an extensive library for her subjects and did thorough research on the periods she wrote about.

I have always thought that The Toll Gate would make a good TV drama.

Annpan, I wasn’t actually questioning her accuracy in this instance; it was more my own surprise that I hadn’t realized what the basilicum powder was and what it was used for.

I agree, this would make a good tv drama!

Rouan, Oh dear, I put that badly! I know you weren't questioning Heyer's accuracy! It was more that I admired her knowledge of what medication would be used at that time. I have read a couple of mysteries where a character has a good knowledge of medicinal herbs.

In reading the second book in the Lady Jane Grey series I came upon this :

"When a member of the family passes we stop the clocks to show that time itself has stood still."

It reminded me of that children's song about the grandfather clock that stood in the hall........"but it stopped short, never to run again, when the old man died."

I wonder if that is an actual thing people did, like draping black on mirrors.

I have read books before in which clocks were stopped at a death. They were all set in past centuries, I believe.

I've heard that, too. Rather poetic, I think. Sometimes when someone I love has died, I feel bewildered that the rest of the world can simply go on as it did before.

Yes; it makes you wonder what is wrong with everybody else, doesn't it?

Yoyobon and Carolyn, your posts made me think of the Auden poem:

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message 'He is Dead'.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Sheri, that's quite a poem and new to me. I'm glad I didn't know it four years ago when my husband died.

I think it was read out in the movie "Four Weddings and a Funeral" which made it popular and has been featured in ceremonies since then.

After my husband died, I was too busy arranging his funeral and dealing with his business affairs in both the UK and Australia to stop any clocks...

It took me a few moments to realise that "when a member of a family passes " was referring to the death of a person rather than someone just 'passing through' (which I suppose is where the US term comes from)

I have heard that on the death of George V at his country house, Sandringham, his son, who briefly became Edward VIII, had the time on all the clocks corrected. His late Father had kept them all running an hour ahead as he couldn't stand people being late. Presumably everyone knew they were 'fast' so they soon became as punctual (or not) as they had been before.

Vee, I am quite familiar with "passes" or "passes over" meaning death. My late husband was quite firm about calling it death but when I told people that he had died, as he would have wanted, it made some uncomfortable.

There is also a problem that some people have with referring to pregnancy. One should say "expecting" or "in the family way" as I was chided once!

Ann, don’t forget “in a delicate condition”!

Donna

We are able to access 'on line' old newspapers, a useful reference source when tracing ancestors etc and often come across the term enceinte as the polite Victorian way of describing pregnancy.

Another one possibly only heard in law courts these days is in flagrante delicto which might be translated as "caught with his trousers down" or more politely "caught in the act of sexual misconduct."

Annpan I have never come across the term 'passing/passing over' used in England. Perhaps it is because I live in a rural area where people call a spade a spade and love nothing more than the details of the latest funeral they have attended.

An acquaintance recently describe arriving for a funeral service an hour before it started so as 'to get a good seat'.

Vee, I don't remember where I heard that phrase or I might have read it somewhere.

In the Stephanie Plum series by Janet Evanovich, her Grandma Mazur and friends regularly attend funeral lie-ins and rate them on the baked goods at the funeral parlour afterwards!

On slow mornings, I have taken to glancing at the obituaries to see how many different phrases are used instead of saying someone died. Some are passed away, passed on, passed, joined his loved ones, went to be with his Lord and Savior, and several variations. Very few people seem just to die these days, and most of them are older people. Maybe they wrote their own obits (as I have, subject to change, of course).

A local, well-known and respected lawyer "bit the dust" and before he "kicked the bucket " he instructed that his obit was to be short and sweet. He directed his sons to simply publish : " He died."

Here is another poem that was used at the memorial service for a good friend. I really love it:

What is dying?

A ship sails and we stand watching until she fades on the horizon and someone says, “She is gone.”

Gone where?

Gone from our sight, that is all. She is just as large now as when we last saw her. Her diminished size and total loss from our sight is in us, not in her. And just at the moment when we say “she is gone” there are others who are watching her coming over their horizon, and other voices take up a glad shout, “THERE SHE COMES!” And that is dying.

Sail on, my friend, sail on!

I haven't written my obit but have decided on cremation and the ashes scattered at sea. It makes it easier for my two knowing my last wishes.

I like both of those poems. The first described the devastation of loss. The second portrays an acceptance that comes after time. I have gone through both stages when losing someone who is deeply important to me.