Forty-Three

‘Please be seated,’ the Reverend said. He waited for absolute quiet before continuing. ‘We are gathered here today to celebrate the life and mourn the passing of William Anthony Edwards. Born on 11 November 1922, he was the first child and only son of Emily and Wilfred Edwards. Despite a bout of scarlet fever which put the five-year-old William in hospital he grew into a fine and sturdy young man…’

Mandy looked at the Reverend standing behind the lectern as he continued with the tribute – the words of appreciation for Grandpa’s life. Then she looked over to the coffin and tried to rid her mind of the image of Grandpa as she had last seen him, emaciated and dependent on others. She tried to replace it with the image of the man the Reverend now spoke of; the man Grandpa had been before he’d fallen ill. The man who at the age of nineteen, the Reverend said, had been one of the first to sign up to fight for his country when war had broken out in 1939. The man who, not one to wait around, had quickly courted and married Lizzie, his childhood sweetheart, on returning home in 1946.

‘He was a successful businessman and proud,’ the Reverend was saying, coming up to date, ‘but kind, loving and loyal; a family man. The last time I saw William was when I visited him in hospital and he asked me to make special mention of his granddaughters, Sarah and Mandy.’ Mandy looked again at the Reverend and swallowed hard at the mention of her name. ‘In a society which doesn’t always value the family as much as it should,’ he continued. ‘it is heart-warming to learn of the special bond which developed between Grandpa, as he was affectionately known, and his granddaughters. His love for Sarah and Mandy was unreserved, as I know theirs was for him. Even when the girls were away at university they phoned and visited regularly just as they had always done. Sarah fondly remembers the afternoon not long ago when she taught her grandpa to use his new and highly sophisticated mobile phone, for he was quite determined modern technology wouldn’t leave him behind.’ A murmur of agreement ran through the congregation and Mandy smiled. ‘It was fitting, therefore,’ the Reverend continued, ‘given that special bond between him and his granddaughters, that when William’s life on earth was coming to its natural end one of his granddaughters, Mandy, should help nurse him. Indeed she was with him at the end.’ Mandy met the Reverend’s gaze and swallowed hard. ‘How lovely for a man who placed so much value on his family to leave this world surrounded by those he loved and cherished. I’m sure he knew his family were there, and appreciated it. It would have meant a lot to him in his final days to hear the voices of those he loved; to feel the warmth of their hands as they comforted and nursed him.’ The Reverend paused and looked first at Sarah and then at Mandy, addressing them personally: ‘I know how painful it is to lose a loved one, but please find comfort in the knowledge that your dear grandpa lives on in you both. Let us all now spend a few minutes in quiet reflection as we think of the life and lament the passing of William, beloved husband, father and grandpa.’

Mandy lowered her head and closed her eyes as the rest of the mourners were doing. She felt her tears run freely down her cheeks and drip unchecked on to her hand as she thought of Grandpa and all she had lost. Dear, dear Grandpa, I hope you know how much I love and respect you. Life isn’t the same without you; it never will be. I miss you dreadfully. I miss so many things about you. The sound of your voice on the phone when I called every Tuesday at 6 p.m. All those discussions we had that went on for ages, when Gran was so worried about my telephone bill she made you phone me back. If I was speaking to you this Tuesday I’d tell you about the ring Adam has given me and how we are moving in together. I know you’d be pleased.

I remember my visits to you, Grandpa – as a child with my parents, and then as I grew up, alone. You always greeted me in the hall with a big hug and the same words: ‘So what’s my little Mandy been up to? Come in and tell me all.’ I can hear you saying it now; I can still hear your voice, it’s very clear. And I remember how we’d sit together, either side of the hearth in winter, or beneath the apple tree in summer, and I’d tell you what I’d ‘been up to’. And you’d listen carefully and then advise me. Strange, I never minded you giving me the benefit of your advice, indeed I welcomed it, but for years if my parents tried to give me advice I rejected it out of hand. I guess that was part of the special bond you and I had. How I wish I still had it.

And I remember your wooden pipe which you kept polished on the mantelpiece although you hadn’t smoked for twenty years. I was intrigued by that pipe. As a child I used to put it in my mouth when you left the room and pretend I was smoking. I wonder if you ever knew? You never said if you did.

And the tie you always wore. Casual dress for you still meant a shirt and tie – even when you were pottering in the garden you wore a tie and your cap. It was always important for you to look smart, until the very end, when you were too ill and hadn’t the energy to dress, let alone wear a tie. When you lay in bed, often in pain, wanting to be at peace. And now you are, my Grandpa, at peace. I haven’t forgotten the promise I made when I knelt by your bed and stroked your hand, which was so thin and frail I thought it might break. I haven’t forgotten my promise and I will start tomorrow, I promise I will. I’ll make you proud of me, as I was of you.

‘Let us pray,’ the Reverend said, breaking gently into their thoughts. ‘The Lord’s Prayer. Our Father, who art in heaven…’ Mandy pulled a tissue from her pocket and quietly blew her nose and wiped her eyes. She could hear Sarah crying further along the pew. Others were sniffing and blowing their noses too as they began quietly saying the Lord’s Prayer.

When they came to the end of the prayer everyone looked up and towards the front. The Reverend turned to the coffin and made the sign of the cross. There was silence as he began the Committal, the final words of the service: ‘Almighty God, our heavenly Father, we praise you for the sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life…’ Mandy braced herself for what was coming next. How could she bear saying her last goodbye? They stood as the organ began to play sombrely in the background. The large velvet curtains either side of the plinth on which the coffin rested moved slightly then slowly began to close; slowly, very slowly, as the Reverend spoke: ‘The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ and the love of God…’The curtains drew steadily towards each other, relentless and unstoppable. Goodbye, Grandpa, thanks for everything you did for me. I won’t ever forget you. I love and miss you so very much.

The curtains closed, the coffin disappeared from view, and Mandy leant on the handrail and cried openly.