Marton on the Mound part 4

The Funeral

St Peter’s church commanded a fine position high on the Mound after which Morton was named, and was accessed by a steeply sloping path leading to the West door.  James Hickman had often stood proudly at the door of this his favourite church and gazed fondly over the surrounding countryside.  Today was different.  It would be only fair to say that, this being James’ first funeral at which he had officiated as sole priest, he was not a little nervous.  Nor would it be an exaggeration to say that his decision to allow Terry from the early doors crew to make the tribute to the departed was filling him with utter dread.

On reflection, James had to admit that it was his treatment at the hands of the widow that had led him to agree to this course of action; that and perhaps a pint or two too many and the warm feeling of at last belonging in that part of his flock that had so far eluded him.  Now in the sober light of day, standing at the door of one of his churches ready to officiate at his first funeral, that decision summoned nightmarish visions of letters of complaint written to the Rural Dean, Archdeacon and perhaps even the Bishop; of “requests” to attend the Bishop’s Palace to “discuss” the issue; these discussions finally resulting in the ignominy of being busted down to curate while his parishes are taken over by a more competent priest.

It was in this mood that James now stood at the West door with about twenty minutes to go before the service was about to start.  The funeral directors together with the coffin and bearers had arrived at the lych gate and paused before attempting the steep and difficult path up to the church.  Behind them spread across the road were the black massed ranks of the widow and her entourage.  James noticed that the widow had lost none of her sour and forbidding demeanour, and made an assumption that the similarly sour women with her were friends or relations on her side.  As the top hatted and tailed funeral director led the puffing bearers past him into the church James tried to greet the mourners who followed.  The women swept past James as if he were the doorman rather than the officiating priest.  They were followed by what seemed to James to be a never ending stream of the same dour sour faced women and following these, a pace or two behind, cowed quiet men.  None returned James’ greeting and none spoke.

They took their places in the pews on the right hand side arrayed as if drilled in the rules of funeral etiquette.  Still none spoke and all stared ahead at the backs of the heads of those in front; all that is except the widow, sitting alone in the front right hand pew, who stared malevolently at the coffin in which lay her late husband.

With only 5 minutes to go before the time appointed for the start of the service, James took a look inside the church.  The front right pews were taken up by the widow’s entourage, and a few of the rear pews were taken, by non-aligned mourners, but the front left pews were ominously empty and the atmosphere felt more like a condemnation rather than a celebration of the deceased’s life.

Briefly James saw the absence of the early doors crew as a benefit until he realised that in their absence he would have to make the tribute to Bill himself in front of the forbidding and frankly scary widow’s entourage.  He hurried outside to see if there were any more mourners coming up the slope to the church, and seeing none retreated into the church closing the big heavy doors behind him.

“’I am the resurrection and the life’ says the Lord. ‘ Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die’

“We meet in the name of Jesus Christ, who died and was raised to the glory of God the Father.   Grace and mercy be with you.

We have come here today to remember before God our bro........!

At this point James was interrupted by the West Doors of the church being thrown open with a crash, and a group of 12 men making their way up the aisle led by Terry.

“Sorry we’re late Vicar.  We started the wake a bit early”

Even from where he was standing in front of the rood screen, James could smell the beer on the breath of the crew as they made their rather unsteady way up the nave still puffing from the hurried climb up the slope to the church.  This was not what James had expected when he had invited the crew to attend the funeral.  He had envisaged a congregation, not of the “Great and Good”, but of the “ordinary” people of the village.  He reflected now that he had imagined a scene from Lark Rise to Candleford with a church full of good honest working folk all worshipping the Lord with due deference.  What he now had was one side of the church filled with harridans and the nave filled with drunks.

Terry made his way if not unsteadily then with a bit of a swagger to the front of the church.  As he drew alongside the widow’s pew he looked over and winked, then without pausing to see her reaction he slid into the pew opposite.  Prior to the wink, the widow’s face bore a look of scorn that could have killed at 20 paces, and after the wink – well after the wink the most surprising transformation came over this fierce and unbending visage.  For the briefest of moments it softened and flushed before once more becoming a mask of contempt.

The rest of the crew took their places in the pews behind Terry, and once they had settled, James felt it was appropriate to resume the service from where they had left off.  On the spur of the moment, James decided to move the tribute from the beginning of the service after the introduction to the end, just before the commendation.  This, he reasoned, would give Terry a little more time to sober up.

The rest of the service went according to plan with the sole exception of a loud snoring from one of the crew made during James’ brief sermon.  The snorer was silenced periodically by the application of an elbow to the ribs, but in spite of this, never appeared to regain consciousness until the final hymn just before Terry was due to make the tribute.

As the last grumbles and squeaks that passed for notes died away, James stepped up in front of the screen and announced that Bill’s long term friend Terry would pay tribute to the Bill’s memory.  Looking somewhat more sober than when he came in, although definitely uncomfortable in his suit, Terry moved to where James stood in front of the screen.  “Here we go” thought James as he moved back behind the screen to sit in his choir pew. 

From behind the safety of the screen he surveyed the congregation with interest.  On his left the Widow and her harridans were still scowling, no more or no less than before as far as James could see, and on his right, the crew were beginning to sit up and take notice.  Even the snorer had woken fully and was paying attention.  James’ attention was drawn back to Terry who stood in front of the screen without notes of any kind, and apparently without nerves.