Friday 27th August 2010

I awoke Thursday morning at the ungodly hour of two thirty; outside the wind and rain were still howling. I laid there trying to get another couple of hours sleep, but my mind hard started up and so I got up at three for a cuppa and to mess around on the computer.

It had been a late decision to head up to Suffolk to attend the funeral of the father of my good friend, James. Not that I did not want to be there, but the money thing has been weighing heavy. But, it was both our pay days, and so I thought I should be there for my friend, as so I went.

At quarter to five I walked to the car, the rain still fell heavily and the wind was still blowing. At least the drive up the A2 to the tunnel was quiet, very little traffic about, but what there was caused spay like fog. The radio burbled in the background alternating serous with the glib, but it was fine, kept me awake.
At least the tunnel was free, and soon I was in Essex and getting nearer home turf. The rain did not let up, and even when it got light, the feeling of driving through mist did not cease. At least most of the traffic was heading south, towards London .

By half six I was in Ipswich, or rather going round it, over the Orwell Bridge, and still heading north. At Saxmundham, the good roads gave out, and I just had a single carriageway to deal with, but the traffic was still light. Lowestoft , is as it ever was, but quieter. How the streets used to be full with those going to work at half seven on a weekday morning. But in these times when all shipyards, canning factories, wood yards and even SLP closed, there was just a few of us on the streets that early.

I called James on the phone, and he was up. I went to his flat and went up. We talked and shared a cuppa, but there really are no words for days like that. Just being there counts. I left James to his preparations and went to find somewhere to have breakfast. On James’ recommendation, I went to the Woodbine in Suffolk Road , and it was very good, and as seems usual, much bigger than I could actually eat.

I still had three hours to while away before the event, and so I went to visit my Godparents. Like everyone, they are older than when I last saw them, but Alan had had multiple aneurisms during the summer and was only just getting back to normal. I told them about my job, and Mother’s problems, but soon they had to head out for another appointment with the doctor.

I called on another friend, Douglas, as I had correctly guessed, as a builder, he would not be working. But he was having a lay in, and I had surprised him. We stood outside talking for a while, and realising we had not done that for way too long. But it was getting near to time for the ceremony, and we said our goodbyes.

The rain fell harder in a stiffening breeze, and I sat in my car as the previous service ended and the mourners made their way back to their cars. People began to arrive, and I made my way, under an umbrella, to the crematorium to meet back with James and his two children. Not much else to say, James, just to hug and say how sorry I was. And then go inside and wait.
This is where I said goodbye to my Father, two grandmothers and a grandfather as well as two good friends, dead because of a car crash on Christmas a quarter of a century ago.

People began to arrive; James greeted them with a handshake and the words, good of you to come, or something similar. A Whiter Shade of pale struck up, and the coffin was brought in, and then followed Wendy, the widow, and her family.

One thing that I had never thought about, was the etiquette of death; when someone has re-married, how is the ex-wife treated? And their children? Should the current wife consider them in her grief? All these things hung in the air, but seemed to be sorted out, as after the first Hymn, the vicar read out a potted history of the deceased’s life, with ex-wife, son, new wife and new wife’s family all getting mentioned. Having the wisdom of Solomon seems to be part of the job in the clergy, and his editing Wendy’s 9 page biography seemed to read very well, of to my ears.

James’ daughter read a tribute, including THAT poem by Auden, which is perfect, of course. We sang ‘Abide With Me’, and the blessing was read and the curtains closed, and the king left this world and entered the next.

We filed out after the family, and milled around talking, meeting old friends and sharing our grief. I did not fancy the wake, anyway I had my Mother to meet and so said my goodbyes to James and his children, and went back outside into the rain. Mother is much the same, the house smelt of smoke, which she blamed on a friend who had just left. Lies slip easily from her lips, but then again it could have been true. We talked, but it was stilted, and time was getting on, and the rain still fell, and I had at least a four hour journey back home to Kent .

I left and headed down towards Bury St Edmunds, and the good roads which lead to the M11 and then onto the M25 and the tunnel and home. Traffic was heavy, and the rain still fell. And it was energy sapping, straining to see into the spay and mist. But, as the day wore on, I made my way south and home. It took half an hour to get over the bridge and through the tolls, which ate 40 pence and I had to feed it some more, but then I was in Kent , and the final hour of my day.

It was rush hour, and the M20 was heavy with trucks and tourists heading for the coast and the ports and destinations further south and sunnier than here. But, it was trouble free, and soon enough I was in Dover and driving along the cliff road to St Margaret’s, but France was hidden behind a veil, and even the ferries were shrouded. And just after 5, I reversed the car into the drive, and let out one long sigh.