Tuesday 20 October 2015

The Funeral

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I watched a woman bury her husband today. She stood there in the sunshine, dressed in black looking down at the open grave. Her face gave nothing away; except a single tear escaped from her eye and inched down her face; leaving a track in her make up. She wiped away that tear and straightened her back; mourning was over. She was ready for life as a widow. I guess it was a scene played out in churchyards across the country, but we weren’t in a graveyard or cemetery. I was looking from my bedroom window down into her back garden, where the old lady was just starting to fill in the grave.
I slipped my shoes on and headed downstairs, I couldn’t bear to see a woman of her age shovel dirt into a grave alone.
‘Can I give you a hand Mrs Wilson?’ I said across the wall.
She jumped, she hadn’t expected anyone to be awake this early.
‘If you wouldn’t mind love,’ she said. I took the shovel from her hands and got to work while she told me her sad story. ‘We couldn’t afford a proper funeral, we said whoever goes first we’ll bury them here.’
‘I thought you were building a fish pond,’ I said.
She smiled. ‘I’ll make you a cuppa.’
There is something almost pleasant about shovelling dirt on to a dead body, reminding me of burying my father on Barry Island beach. But I guess Mr Wilson wouldn’t be complaining about sand in his unmentionables.
‘Oh you’ve done a good job love,’ Mrs Wilson said handing me my tea. I took a sip, it was far too milky and only lukewarm.
‘Are you okay?’ I said.
‘I’ll be fine love, bit of a shock, but us old ‘uns are made of hardy stock.’
‘Well if you need anything.’
‘Thanks love. Oh look, it’s time for The Archers,’ she took my mug off me and went into the house.
So that was that, Mr Wilson’s funeral, a simple affair but touching in its own way.
Except 3 days later I saw Mr Wilson in the post office.
‘Mr Wilson, I haven’t seen you for a while,’ I said, trying not to believe in ghosts.
‘Ah Joseph, how are you?’
‘I’m fine but you’re-‘
‘Yes me and Marjorie have split up, terribly sad but you only live once, no point being unhappy.’

I walked away wondering just who was under the ground in my neighbour’s garden.

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1 comment:

  1. Petra Goláňová24 October 2015 at 10:26

    My favourite lines:
    ‘Mr Wilson, I haven’t seen you for a while,’ I said, trying not to believe in ghosts....
    I walked away wondering just who was under the ground in my neighbour’s garden.

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