“Don’t worry, I know. I’ve done it before, twice, once for Dad and again for Ellen. I’ll find a local funeral parlour and we’ll discuss what kind of funeral – maybe Harry left instructions somewhere. In all our years of talking we never mentioned our own passing.”
“Harry once said that he preferred burial to cremation but that was years ago, people change their minds.”
“Well, if we don’t find evidence to the contrary, we’ll go along with that. Let’s go home and get some sleep if we can.”
The receptionist at the desk phoned a taxi for them and they went home, tired, sad and bemused.
“I was so sure he’d get better,” mused Edgar, “I’m still shocked at what’s happened.”
The next day he put notices in the local paper and in the national press. He included Harry’s regimental number thinking that perhaps some of their old army mates might readit. ‘Funeral notice in the near future’ he put because they had to contact Harry’s daughter and find out if she wanted to attend.
Harry might have said that he had no idea of Anita’s whereabouts but Betsy had kept in touch on and off over the years.
“The last address I have is somewhere near Johannesburg. I can find it.” she told Edgar, and they agreed to send a telegram.
“Oh dear,” said Betsy, “ there was a time when people thought a telegram always brought bad news, and this time it’s true.Help me to compose it.”
This is what they came up with.
‘Bad news. Harry killed in accident. Shall you attend funeral? Date not yet fixed. Condolences, love, Betsy.’
“We’ll pay for a reply, I think you can do that.”
“Yes, I think so. I’ll take it to the post office right now. Maybe we’ll both go, that place has bad memories.” Was Edgar’s response.
“Yes, I’ll come with you, I think we need each other’s company.”
The reply arrived first thing next morning.
‘Both flying over immediately. Love ,Anita.’
Edgar had contacted the funeral director and made what arrangements he could. He and Betsy had decided that since people had lay marriage celebrants there must be lay funeral celebrants. “Harry couldn’t abide parsons.” Betsy was adamant. She went on, “I’ll clean up Harry’s room and ask Anita and Gerald if they’d like to stay here.They can have my double room and I’d move into Harry’s. I hope they will do that, I was always very fond of my niece.”
They had chosen to have Harry buried at a crematorium- cum-cemetary about three miles away. A pretty setting with trees and lawns and a rose garden – not that roses were in bloom at this time of year.
“I hope they have warm clothes to bring. Coming from their summer to this weather will be something of a shock.”
They had indeed come prepared. Anita greeted her aunt with a warm hug and kiss and they cried in each others arms. The couple gladly agreed to stay with Betsy at least until after the funeral when they’d go for a quick visit to Gerald’s family in Evesham before flying back to South Africa.
There were two days before the funeral and all four of them helped to go through Harry’s possessions. Anita was grateful to have the old newspapers covering events in her grandparents’ lives.
Edgar cried over the unfinished memoirs and Betsy wept over the few mementoes of their early life that Harry had kept and was surprised at some of his choices. She’d never suspected an ounce of sentiment in her brother and here were their father’s cufflinks and their mother’s fancy hat pin, of all things. “People don’t wear hat pins these days,” she mused. “Pity, they could be quite elegant”.
Of course the unopened boxes under the bed were discovered and reluctantly gone through. “It does feel like prying,” Anita said. “But it seems even worse to throw the whole lot away without looking at it. Forgive us Dad, while we rummage through your life.”
“Thank Goodness,” announced Edgar on the morning of the funeral. “the weather has been kinder, you could almost say mild.”
“You’d be fibbing,” put in Gerald.
“Well it’s certainly not as cold. We don’t want old fogues getting pneumonia at the graveside.”
“How many old fogues are you expecting?” asked Betsy.
“Well there’s me for a start.” Edgar replied.
The funeral went according to plan. The neighbours and local friends were rather startled at the absence of hymns. Whispered comments were heard. Words like “Surely,” “Abide with me,” “Not exactly reverential.’
However the two or three army pals who had turned up were pleased to hear the organist belt out their regimental march. Apart from Harry’s family everyone was slightly shocked to hear ‘She’ll be comin’ round the mountain when she comes’.
Edgar had been persuaded to give a eulogy and made a very good job of it. He’d been reluctant but, as Betsy said, “You knew him better than anyone.” It was clear that Edgar had really loved his old mate. He even told about about their collections of people for parties which would never now eventuate.
At the graveside Edgar threw Harry’s party note book on top of the coffin and inadvertantly the handkerchief which had just wiped his teary eyes.
The mourners went back to Betsy’s house where the neighbours had helped to provide luncheon food. Hilda Lawson was ther and reported to Edgar that her nephew had left and that the room was available again. Should Edgar need it, she added.
Betsy overheard and looked uncomfortable.
“We’ll talk later.” Edgar said to her.
Two days late it was all over, everyone gone, Anita and Gerald too, with promises to keep in touch. Betsy was sad to say Goodbye to Anita and adjured Gerald to take good care of her.
Edgar and Betsy were alone.”I’m not going back to Mrs. Lawson’s,” he said.”
“What?” Betsy sounded startled.
“I don’t want to leave you,” he said’ putting his hand gently on her arm.
“Oh. Oh. People might talk”, she stuttered.
“They might. But not if we were married. Elizabeth, will you? Not immediately. Might be indecent haste after Harry’s going. But soon. Will you, Elizabeth? Marry me?
THE END.
Tabitha. Jan 18th 2011
