‘We thocht daith cud dae wi a wee bittie dancin’: welcome to Sondering, the airts festival wi its ain funeral march

Raised in the Lake District on “music, moss and macaroni cheese,” Sophia and Camilla Minden were mindful of daith frae a very early age. The sisters shared a bed and played in the woods ahint their house, frequently bringin hame injured and dyin birds, frogs and a rat they named Adrian and fed pate and pork pie. “Everything we’d learned about their diet, we learned frae Wind in the Willows,” admits Sophia. The creatures rarely survived, but the daith of ilka ane was respectfully honoured wi a burial in the garden, words spoken, singin and a stane or flooer placed on the grave.

Whit they didna expect was that little mair than a decade later, they’d be plannin Camilla’s ain funeral. Diagnosed wi late-stage Hodgkin’s lymphoma just efter her 20th birthday, she was gien an 80% chance of survival, but the ither 20% made her investigate her local undertakers (“dated, impersonal and expensive”) and work out whit she wanted at her funeral (“spag bol and quite a lot of Michael Jackson”). Navigatin “shit wigs” and folk’s awkwardness around the subject of dyin, she says that she spent a lot of time “bargainin wi God”, promisin that if she made it through, she’d live life to the full and appreciate every single day.

Noo 37 and 40, the sisters hae retained that mindset, and efter initially explorin settin up their ain progressive funeral directors, landed on the idea of creatin a daith-themed festival that wad be as muckle a celebration of life as an exploration of mortality. So unlike ither mair conference-style or toun-based daith events, the Sondering, which debuts this weekend, is unashamedly an airts festival whaur “fun is allowed”. Wi live music, theatrical performances and a variety of creative workshops frae clownin to shroud-makin – plus a splash of guided wild soumin in Rydal Water – the programme has been designed to gie folk the opportunity to participate and express themsels in ways that micht be sorrowfu or joyful. “It’s OK to cry and ask for a cup of tea, it’s OK to lauch and dance,” says Sophia.

Locatit on a workin ferm wi a capacity of just 300 to create an intimate feel, the festival site was chosen for its proximity to particular geographical features. “The Lake District is stunnin, magical, healin,” says Sophia. “And we want to share it in a way that brings the landscape and local history alive,” adds Camilla. At sunset on Saturday evenin, a cappella group Mouthful will be performin and leadin a singin session inside Rydal Cave, makin the maist of its natural acoustics. And on Sunday, festival-goers will be invitit to walk in a slow communal procession wi a willow coffin alang the auld Coffin Route frae Rydal to Grasmere. Up until the mid-1800s, this scenic twa-and-a-half-mile footpath was how folk carried their deid to kirk to be buried. The coffin – which will be collectively woven on site ower the weekend and filled wi personal notes of remembrance – will be taken richt inside St Oswald’s Kirk, whaur there will be a musical performance frae kora player John Haycock wi Dan Bridgwood-Hill, featurin clarinet, guitar, violin and fiddle. “This is as close to a funeral as we get at the festival,” says Camilla. “We’re no afraid of ritual.”

Aimed equally at thae who are simply daith-curious and thae who are grievin the loss of a loved ane, maist of the music at the festival has been chosen for its “emotion and energy” and includes folk, reggae, opera, electro-punk and an upliftin DJ set on the Saturday nicht wi an “emoshpit” whaur emotions guid, bad and messy can be released. Ither acts hae a direct connection to daith. The improvised singin of Laurel Morgan is inspired by the Celtic tradition of keenin, whaur wails and wordless sounds are used to lament the deid. And sound artist Jack McNeill will be doin a performance wi disassembled clarinets and words frae poems written by his wife in response to losin three close family members in the same year. “It’s so easy to feel isolated in grief because it’s so rarely explored ither than through a lens of sympathy,” he says. “I’d love folk to feel less alane, mair connectit, and I think music does that better than maist things.”

Sophia and Camilla say some hae questit whether a music and airts festival isna romanticisin or trivialisin daith. But they say they’re acutely aware the topic is “too big and too hard” for that. “We’re no sayin daith isna scary or painful or tragic,” says Sophia. “We’re askin if facin up to daith thegither in this way can bring us closer to life and each ither?” The ultimate aim of the festival is to encourage folk to live as richly and compassionately as they possibly can: “Live like they’re gaun to die.” Even as bairns wi a garden fu of wild animal graves, they tell me their house was aye fu of dancin, lauchin, warmth, generosity and love. “We thocht daith cud dae wi a bittie o that,” says Camilla.