Madrid, Spain (CNN) Every 15 minutes or so, a dark hearse pulls up in front of the crematorium of Madrid's sprawling La Almudena cemetery.

Father Edduar, a Catholic priest dressed for Mass, walks out of the building to greet family members who have come to pay their final respects -- by national rule, each group is limited to five or fewer people. The driver opens the trunk to reveal a simple wooden casket. Standing behind the hearse, under a shaded carport, the mourners keep a distance. Some wear masks , or even gloves. Hugs and kisses are an uncommon sight.

From start to finish, the blessings and prayers take barely five minutes. Father Edduar douses the sealed casket with holy water before a pair of staff emerge to load it onto a gurney and roll it inside. Then, it's all over. There is no eulogy, no visitation, no public burial. There's hardly even time for a goodbye.

Mortuary employees and relatives at a burial of a patient at La Almudena cemetery on Saturday.

As the hearse pulls away, another takes its place moments later. The brief ceremonies are almost as constant as the stream of heat escaping from the crematorium's chimney, occasionally turning to dark smoke against the hazy sky.

It is a strange scene, even for one of the largest cemeteries in Western Europe, whose rolling hills of endless headstones have been there through famine, civil war and the Spanish flu.