Short Story...
The hearse sat outside the house, the elegant teak coffin in the back, covered in flowers. I sat in the living room, feeling the oppressive silence that filled the house. It hadn’t been this quiet in years. Heather and her husband Paul came in and stood by the window, followed by her younger sister Angela. Angela went to sit down next to me and Heather let out a squawk.
“Don’t sit there!” she scolded, and I smiled at her. It had been ‘mother’s place’ for decades, after all. She always had been very proper. Angela stood up and went to sit in the chair by the window, while Paul paced across the well-worn carpet.
“When is the car coming?” Angela asked quietly, wary of upsetting Heather on a day like this.
“Any minute now.” My brother Peter entered the room, and stood at the fireplace. His tie was crooked, and I wanted to point it out, but Angela noticed it and went to fix it for him.
“The car’s here,” Paul announced, and we all watched it stop outside, behind the hearse. Looking around at each other, there was a pause, and then as one we got up and headed outside, Heather locking the door behind us. We got into the car, and the procession began.
As we pulled up outside the church, the men who were going to carry in the coffin were gathered outside, and we went inside to sit at the front. Heather was crying a little already. The organist began to play as the coffin was brought in, and it was laid at the front of the church, and Paul and Peter came to sit in the front row. I smiled sadly at Peter, his tie crooked again, but then what did it matter now. The minister stood to begin the service, and the organist began to play the first hymn. The opening strains rang out and we all stood to sing. As everyone present began singing, I couldn’t help but smile a little - Abide With Me, my favourite hymn, the one we all loved. Despite the sadness of a funeral, we had all been agreed on which hymns to choose - these decisions had been made on the way back from church many times over, Angela favouring How Great Thou Art, while Heather preferred For The Beauty Of The Earth. My sister and myself however, always loved Guide Me O Thou Great Jehovah, and Peter used to tease us that we never did anything separately. That hadn’t been the case for a few years now, though. I was brought out of my internal reverie by the end of the hymn, and everyone sat down again. As the minister began the service, my mind wandered a little. I knew what he would be saying anyway. Beloved mother and sister, widow, a long and productive life. An early run-in with the law as a Suffragette, something both of us had been proud of, and which our mother had been ashamed of until the very day of her death all those years ago. It had always amused the girls though. I tuned back in to the service.
“…she never missed a service unless she was very poorly, even in recent years when mobility became more of an issue,” the minister was saying, and I couldn’t help but smile. Mother had always drummed it into us that we must attend church unless we were actually dying then and there or had lost limbs, and we had all faithfully attended this church since we were tiny. We’d seen many changes of minister, but we all knew every member of the congregation, and it often took an hour to get home after a service despite living only fifteen minutes away, with everyone who stopped us to talk. One of the benefits of living in a small town your whole life. When Sarah’s husband had died, and mine a decade later, the community had really rallied round, something we would always be grateful for. I looked up, surprised, as Peter stood up, and then remembered that he was going to say a few words.
“As far back as I can remember,” he began, “My sisters were inseparable. Though there was an age gap of six years, they both loved the same things - PG Wodehouse, music by Irving Berlin, and very sweet tea!” Those gathered in the church laughed and I had to join in - we were legendary among the church congregation for the monopolising the sugar bowl at fundraising coffee mornings. By the time I got back to paying attention, he had moved on. “We used to tease her that she would be a spinster, but she didn’t care. She always said that she was,” and here I mouthed along with him, “‘waiting for a man as wonderful as Father.’” Everyone laughed again. “We had all just about given up hope when she met Joseph at a tea dance. They were married within a year, and just two years after that she was pregnant with Heather. Angela was born three years later, and they couldn’t have been happier.” His voice grew sombre. “However, she was widowed not long after, as so many women were due to the war. Regardless, she raised her daughters to be strong, successful women, and I know that the birth of her granddaughter Amanda was one of the happiest days of her life.” Next to me, I heard Heather sniff a little, and Angela reached out to take her sister’s hand. “She loved Songs of Praise, and reading, and as Reverend Hart said earlier, she never missed a service here unless she was terribly ill. So to conclude, I’d just like to say that she will be dearly missed, and ask you all to do your best to keep her memory alive.” He stopped, and came back to sit down, surreptitiously wiping his eyes. He looked over towards me, and I smiled at him. The organist began to play the second hymn then, and we all stood up to sing again. After we had finished Guide Me Thou O Great Jehovah, we sat again, and the minister finished with a blessing. Then the men carried the coffin back out to the hearse, and we stood outside to receive people’s condolences. I stood a bit away from the girls, awkwardly trying to collect myself, as relatives we rarely saw except at such sad occasions came out and said how sorry they were. Cousin Margaret and her son Norman, Cousin Joyce and her husband and daughters whose names escaped me, various family friends and neighbours came past, some saying a few words to Heather and Angela, but most just going out to their cars to go on to the cemetery. After everyone had gone to their cars, we got back into the one which had brought us, and began the journey to the cemetery.
There was a lot of standing around at the cemetery, and they spent a while sorting out the coffin, the cords to lower it down and whatnot. I stood to the side, watching everyone - Heather and Angela standing together, talking quietly, various friends standing around admiring the bouquets and wreaths and talking amongst themselves. I saw Peter handing out the cards with cord assignments on them, to Paul, then to a few second-cousins, and two next-door neighbours. The undertakers sorted out the cords and Paul took the one at the foot of the coffin, Peter at the head. Finally, we were ready to begin, and the coffin was lowered slowly into the ground. Thankfully it wasn’t raining, and as the men threw the cords into the grave on top of the coffin, the minister began to speak. As he said ‘ashes to ashes’, Peter, Heather and Angela each stepped forward to throw a handful of dirt down onto the coffin. I watched with a sad smile. As the minister concluded, Heather was sobbing, and Paul put his arm around her. Peter stood with his arm around Angela and his other hand in his pocket, blinking more than necessary, but I understood why he wouldn’t wipe his eyes. As people began to head for their cars again in order to go to the wake, which was being held at a local hotel, my family stood for a few minutes longer, saying their goodbyes.
“Goodbye, Mum,” I heard Heather whisper softly.
“At least she’s with Aunt Sarah now,” Angela murmured, and Peter nodded. “I wonder if she knows we’re here?”
“She always did know things like that, our Bet,” Peter said with a slightly wobbly smile. “I’d like to imagine she knows fine well we’re here. She’s probably up there now, having a good laugh with your Aunt Sarah and drinking tea.” Heather laughed a little, then bit her lip. They stood there for a few moments more, and then I watched my brother, son-in-law and daughters as they turned and walked away.
I stood for a moment, composing myself, and then walked over to the grave. Though the headstone wasn’t altered yet, I knew what Peter had told them to alter it to.
In loving memory of Sarah Whittaker, beloved aunt and sister, died 20th September 1976 aged 83. Also her sister Elizabeth Jones, beloved mother and sister, died 21st April 2008 aged 109. Together again.