Jay read the inscriptions on the gravestone. There were two names; one the writer William Wordsworth, the other his wife Mary, together with two dates showing when they had passed away. Jay was expecting something more imposing, a small piece of poetry at least. Jay stood alone, away from the other guests, trying to calm his nerves whilst holding a suitably formal invitation in front of him. The other guests wandered around the graveyard, occasionally coming up to him to express their condolences. St. Oswald’s Church stood framed in a backdrop of dark rain clouds and sunlight. Jay had passed by several times when he was a child but had never gone in; he and Jessica were too frightened of the graveyard. This despite the fact that their grandparents had been buried there. They hadn’t gone to their funerals; they didn’t want to, and their dad hadn’t insisted on it either. This was not out of any lack of love or respect - they just couldn’t cope with the sadness of it all. Jay stood, contemplating his first real funeral with a mixture of dread and disbelief. He felt very unready.
The church bells began to ring as the hearse arrived. A man dressed in black ushered the guests towards the church doorway, to stand on either side. Jay stayed behind together with the other pallbearers, ready to accept the coffin.
The coffin was made of plain oak, his father’s favourite wood, and fitted with six brass handles, three on either side. The undertaker pushed the coffin out onto a metal-framed trolley which was then lowered to waist height. Gordon, his dad’s best friend, stood at the front of the coffin together with Jay. Four other men, all either friends or relatives, stood at the middle and the back wearing dark suits, black ties and sunglasses. Gordon counted to three and prompted the pallbearers to lift in unison. Jay was surprised by the weight. The men steadied themselves as they waited for a nod from the undertaker. Once received, they marched off slowly down the gravel path towards the church’s main door. They stopped short of the entrance, waiting for the church bells to stop ringing and the church organ to take over. ‘Abide with me’ echoed through the doorway, giving Jay melancholic memories of his father’s musical taste. People cried, some sobbed, none remained unmoved. Jay peered over at Gordon who had droplets of tears running off his weather-beaten jowls.
The undertaker nodded again, signalling the pallbearers to walk into the church with the rest of the congregation following closely behind. The contrast in lighting was abrupt. The church was much darker inside and it took a couple of seconds for Jay’s eyes to adjust as they negotiated a sharp ninety-degree turn to the right and continued down the aisle. A slow, solemn walk between the empty benches culminated in the coffin being set down gently on the catafalque at the front of the church. The vicar moved round, holding his hymn book at the ready, and motioned the men to take their seats together with the rest of the congregation. Jay noticed how full the church was, which surprised him as his father had always been a somewhat solitary man.
The vicar’s speech, together with several others from friends and family, evaded Jay entirely. His mind was elsewhere. Sharon, one of Jay’s distant cousins, stood up and moved herself uneasily to stand alongside the coffin. She clutched some overly folded papers in one hand and a tissue in the other as she wept uncontrollably through her speech. It was impossible for anyone to know what she was actually saying but several onlookers in the congregation were visibly moved by the scene, sniffing in sad unison with her mournful sobs. Sharon cut her speech short. She could no more. She sat down, too emotional to contain her grief.
Jay tried to focus on the coffin in an attempt to maintain a resemblance of composure. His father lay before him, lifeless, in a box. Jay glanced over his shoulder, catching Steve and Ben who in turn looked back at him. Both managed to produce supportive smiles despite the sadness of their faces. The vicar beckoned Jay forward.
Jay was never comfortable with public speaking, far less so at family gatherings. Zu had tried to console him by telling him to think of his dad or to just look at her. She assured him that it would all be over in a couple of minutes. Zu squeezed Jay’s hand as he nodded back at the vicar in reluctant confirmation. He walked past the coffin and climbed up the creaky, narrow staircase.
Jay stood there for a few seconds, unaware of distant sobbings and the occasional cough. He would not look up. This was his dad’s time. He removed his sunglasses and cleared his throat.
“Ahum.. Dad.. “ Jay glanced over at the coffin, then back at the lectern in front of him “..I stand here.. in this church.. humbled by your presence.. and I.. I think it would be appropriate to pay homage to Wordsworth given the fact that he is here too.. uhum.. Wordsworth once said that.. that the best portion of a good man's life were his little, nameless and unremembered acts of kindness and love..” Jay stood silently for a moment, trying to hold back his tears and clear his throat “..you gave us lots of those Dad.. and believe it or not.. after all these years.. I have written a little poem for you Dad.. in recognition of what you have done for us.. I hope you’ll like it.. uhum.. or at least that you.. and Wordsworth.. will forgive me if you don’t..” Jay laughed through an unwitting sob as he unfolded a piece of paper from his breast pocket. He wiped a tear from his eye “..Here goes..”