The Passing of Miss Hilda Button

A week after Hilda Button passed away, a notice was placed in the window of the village post office, it read:

The funeral of Miss Hilda Button,

loved and cherished member of this parish, will be held 

at 2:00pm on Friday 27th June 

at St Michael’s parish church.

  All are welcome.

“Oh, thank goodness for that,” Betty Draper commented to her friend Edith Mahon as they joined the small group of people gathered around the notice, “I was so worried that her daughter wouldn’t bother with a proper service, you know how people are these days.”

“Well, I should think so too,” Edith responded, “she’s done a lot for this village.  Ninety four, eh?  That’s some age.  Hope I live that long.”

“Clock’s ticking for all of us dear.”  Albert Jones, the butcher chimed in behind Edith’s shoulder.

“Oh, get away with you!” Edith laughed.  “You’ll be there next week then Albert, at the funeral?”

“I shall indeed,” Albert straightened his back and pushed out his ample stomach, “and all of the village, I’d say.  Give old Hilda a good send-off.”

And that how it was, the villagers would all be there.  They’d mark it on their calendars, send suits to the dry cleaners, and dust down hats and shoes reserved for christenings, weddings and funerals.  Hilda Button was well known and loved by everyone.  She’d lived in a cottage on the corner of the village square for as long as most folk could remember.  She’d been born there, an only child, and inherited the cottage when her parents passed away.  Hilda Button never married, had worked at the local council offices until she retired, and was a notable member of the community, whether that was baking for village events, volunteering at the church, or babysitting many of the village children.  Hilda was spritely and sharp, active until her final days, when she’d passed away at home after a number of small strokes.

The day of the funeral arrived, and by half past one a sizeable crowd of soberly clothed villagers had gathered outside the church, with those eager to secure themselves a place, already seated inside in the cool quiet where the organ gently played.

By two o’clock the church was full, with people standing at the back and many others crammed in down each side.  There was a hushed chatter as people shared their memories of Hilda, or just caught up on general village gossip.  The church fell silent and everyone rose from their seats as the doors opened and the vicar, Reverend Percy Hughes, a short overweight man in his seventies, led the small procession.  Behind the vicar, four stout men from the undertakers carried Hilda’s small oak coffin, followed by Jennifer, Hilda’s only daughter and only family.

The villagers watched with intrigue as she walked purposefully down the aisle.  Jennifer was in her fifties, a chemist who was an expert in her field, mainly working abroad, but still managed to visit her mother a few times each year.  She was a trim woman, wearing a smart black suit and low heeled court shoes and kept a composed air of dignity as she followed her mother’s coffin, then took a seat at the front of the church.

“Never did find out who the father was did they?”  Edith Mahon, whispered behind her hand to Betty Draper, sat next to her.

“Shh,” Betty bristled back, “they’ll hear you,” and she straightened herself in the hard wooden pew, looking ahead at the vicar who was now facing the congregation, ready for the service to begin.

Hilda Button had done one thing in her life that had caused a stir.  In her mid forties, she uncharacteristically gained some weight.  Those still alive who’d been around at the time, remembered how no one thought much of it, until one morning, she appeared in the village square with a pram, complete with baby.  No one ever asked, and Hilda never said.  Jennifer Button grew up in the village with all the other children and that was that.  Hilda was held in such high regard that even the harshest of village gossips spared her their tongue, though behind closed doors everyone wondered and speculated.

The vicar began the service and the congregation played their part, singing a hearty rendition of ‘The Lord’s my Shepherd’ then struggling with a more obscure hymn that they were unfamiliar with, just about managing to master the chorus by the end of the last verse.  The service followed a traditional flow of memories and comforting words, and then came the reading.

“As you all know,” the Reverend Percy Hughes commenced in his sing-song vicar’s voice, “Hilda was an exceptionally organised lady, and when she became ill, she spoke to me at great length about the service we’re having here today.”  The congregation murmured in response.  “I have an envelope here that Hilda passed to me just a couple of weeks ago, and as you can see it is still sealed shut.”  The Reverend Hughes held a plain white envelope aloft, his hand shaking slightly.  “Here is a reading from Hilda herself, and she has asked that I share it with you all today.”  More murmurs from the congregation followed as the vicar carefully opened the envelope and pulled out sheets of paper written in Hilda’s hand.  “As you can see,” the vicar gave a bemused smile, “Hilda has quite a bit to say” and he indicated the number of sheets of paper.  The congregation responded with a ripple of affectionate laughter and Reverend Hughes, looked towards the heavens, cleared his throat and began.

So, he has finally come for me!  Well, I never expected to last this long and I expect none of you did either, but I must have got something right, and I’ve been blessed with a good and healthy life, until the end of course.

Reverend Hughes looked up from the page and gave a brief smile to the expectant faces in front of him.

Every life has its ups and downs and I feel very lucky that life has been kind to me.  I’ve loved being a part of the village and so many of you have played an important part in my life, and Jennifer too, of course.  As I write this, I think about what happens to us after we die and what might be in store for me when I pass on.  It’s important for me to leave everything straight and tidy and there are some things I want to tell you.  

“Oh, here we go,” whispered Edith in a voice that was louder than she expected.  People in the pew in front of her turned round, some smiled, some glared.

“Shh!”  Betty gave Edith a dig with her elbow.  The vicar continued.

Many of you will remember…

He stopped.  “I’m not sure about this…” he muttered to himself, then looked upwards as if needing permission to continue.  There was a pause, he straightened the papers, and then he carried on.

Many of you will remember the summer a few years ago when all the plant pots in your gardens got swapped around overnight.  You all suspected it was the local children, well, you were wrong.  It was me!  I had a phase of not sleeping very well and it was something to do.  It was great fun seeing the expressions on your faces!

The vicar stopped and smiled as a few chuckles and noises of surprise rose from the congregation.  “There is more, I’m afraid…” he said, and reverted back to Hilda’s pages.

You see, despite being a long standing, reliable member of the community, I needed to have some fun!  I’m sure you all recall the crocheting that the women’s institute did, I think about ten years ago, where we all created little creatures and flowers and popped them on top of gate posts and bollards.

“I do apologise, I know that Hilda wanted this read out, but I really can’t continue.”  The vicar’s face had reddened and beads of sweat were forming on his brow.

“I’ll do it if you want vicar,” Albert Jones rose from his seat, “if you’re happy with that?”  Reverend Hughes wiped his brow and looked out at the tightly packed pews of villagers, intrigue and expectation on their faces.  He nodded and Albert made his way to the front of the church, patted Hilda’s coffin affectionately and took a deep breath.  The vicar passed over the papers and Albert picked up where he’d left off.

 Well, you’ll remember the bright pink crocheted penises that appeared?

There was a collective gasp.  Albert paused, looked up and grinned, then continued.

  Yes, that was me.  I bet you had no idea!  So I am coming clean now, and hope you’ll forgive me for any embarrassment I caused.

It was also me that drew all the rude body parts in chalk on the church path last summer, those tits and willies, arses and bollocks!  I couldn’t stop laughing that morning when poor old Reverend Hughes saw them.  Sorry vicar.  At least you were able to wash them off before the wedding that afternoon!

Not every bit of fun I had was quite so easy to rectify.  Billy and Samantha Dodds, you’ll remember that awful stench in your house when your children were little, you couldn’t get rid of it could you?  Well, that night I babysat, I found a loose floorboard in your kitchen.  There was some frozen fish in your freezer, and I couldn’t help it.  I took it out of the wrapping and hid the fish under the floorboard.  I think after a couple of days the smell must have been horrendous.

The congregation turned to look at Mr and Mrs Dodds who were sitting near the back of the church.  “Well the crazy old woman!” said Billy Dodds, “It took us weeks to find where that smell came from.  We blamed the kids!”  People sitting around weren’t sure whether to laugh or not, they looked over at Jennifer but she remained staring at her mother’s coffin.  “Go on Albert,” said Billy, “you might as well carry on.”  Albert shifted his weight from one foot to the other.  Reverend Hughes was sitting in an oak chair to one side, he was staring at the floor, his head lowered and hands clasped.  Albert continued.

And then there was the time when people started getting phone calls from a crazy american woman looking for her ancestors, remember, Beatrice from Chicago?  Everyone was talking about her.  That was me!  I loved putting on that accent, really had some of you fooled.   Anyway, I’m confessing now.  It was just a bit of fun for a bored old lady!

The villagers crammed into the pews were whispering to each other and a low rumble filled the church.  Albert Jones paused and looked up.  “This is what Hilda wanted.  It might not be what we were expecting, but we must respect her wishes.”  He looked at Jennifer who was still quietly looking at the coffin, “Jennifer, are you okay if I carry on?”.

“Yes, please do Mr Jones,” Jennifer smiled wistfully, “nothing in my mother’s note would surprise me.”  Albert thanked Jennifer, nodded towards Reverent Hughes and continued.  There were gasps and chuckles, dead silence and murmurs as Albert read out the rest of Hilda Button’s message.  From the pages filled with the old ladies writing, spilled the secrets and details of Hilda’s high jinx, including a confession about love letters from a mystery admirer she’d sent to Jimmy Hoyle, a bachelor in his late forties, Jimmy struggled out of his seat and left the church at that point.  And then tales of rude pictures posted through letter boxes, milk bottles stuck to doorsteps with superglue, all the heads of Mildred Pugh’s prize roses cut off and scattered in the street, the list was endless.

“We’re getting towards the end now,” Albert paused after the long list, “just one more page to go.  Reverend, would you like to read the last part?”

“No thanks Albert.” Reverend Hughes looked up, his face full of disbelief, his voice a little shaky, “please, do finish and then we can lay Hilda to rest.”  And so Albert read out the remainder of Hilda’s message.

I want to thank every single one of you for coming here today.  I hope the confessions of an old lady have kept you amused and brightened up the service.  I expect some of you might think that I’m going to reveal all about the events running up to Jennifer’s birth.  Well, I can tell you, I’m not going to do that.  That business is my own and though I think it right that I confess to all the wicked tricks I’ve played over the years, some things are better left unsaid.

There is one final thing though.  The silver chalice that was stolen from the church in the mid 1970’s.  That was me.  I hid it in the bottom of Jennifer’s pram one Saturday at the church jumble sale.  It’s been on the bedside table in my spare bedroom for the last fifty years.  Please speak to Jennifer and she’ll arrange for it to be returned.  By the way, she had no idea about all my pranks until today so please don’t blame her!

That’s everything I wanted to say. There will be food and drink for you all at the Black Bull, once the service is over.  Thank you for coming.  My love to you all, and do please take every pleasure in life that you can, I hope you can forgive me mine.  Best wishes, Hilda Button.

The Reverend Percy Hughes, slowly rose from his seat, relief etched over his face, he thanked Albert Jones and resumed his place at the front of the church where he completed the service, before moving everyone outside into the graveyard for the final committal.

After Hilda Button’s coffin had been placed in the earth, the assembly of villagers slowly made their way to the Black Bull, the village pub.  As they moved further away from the church and the graveyard, their voices lightened and grew louder and the conversations began in earnest about what they’d all just heard.

“Well, I can’t believe it,” exclaimed Edith Mahon, “after all that stuff that she’s let on about, you’d at least think she’d spill the beans about Jennifer’s father!”

Betty Draper followed Edith into the Black Bull, “Well, it was all a shock to me, I can tell you, Hilda getting up to all that mischief, who’d have thought it?”

“Always did have a twinkle in her eye, “ Albert Jones joined them, “now, can I get you two ladies a drink?”

Betty and Edith sent Albert off to get them both a gin and tonic and settled themselves at a table in the bay window where they could see all the comings and goings outside.  Everyone was making their way into the pub and Jennifer could be seen amongst them, saying hello and thanking people for coming.  Albert returned to the table with Betty and Edith’s drinks and a pint of beer for himself.

“There’s a grand looking buffet through there,” he said, taking a slurp of his pint.

“You did so well in church Albert,” said Betty, “that can’t have been easy.  No wonder vicar Percy didn’t want to read all that out.”

“Can’t blame him,” Albert grinned into his beer, “who’d have thought it eh?”

“Well,” Edith furrowed her brow, “I still think she might have said about…”

“Hello Mrs Mahon, Mrs Draper, thank you so much for coming today,” Jennifer appeared as if from nowhere, “and thank you Mr Jones, you did such a good job, it was so kind of you.”

“Oh, hello Jennifer, didn’t see you there,” Edith flustered, “do sit down,” and she moved up in the window seat to make room for Jennifer, who obliged and sat down next to her.

“Now, Mrs Mahon, I really must speak to you.”

“Oh,” Edith looked at Jennifer, her eyes wide, “what is it dear?”

“I did hear your little comment in church back there,” Jennifer’s tone was quite neutral.

“I’m so sorry,” Edith blustered, “I should never…”

“Listen, it’s fine.  Don’t apologise.” Jennifer drew close to Edith, Betty and Albert looked on, straining to listen.  “Far too much of the communion wine I’m afraid, if you know what I mean.”  Jennifer raised her eyebrows as if confirming that indeed Edith did know what she meant.  “A bit of ‘how’s your father’ in the vestry.”

Edith flushed a bright pink, “Look, it’s okay Jennifer, you really don’t need to explain anything to me, I’m just a nosy old lady, take no notice.”

“It was after choir practice one evening.  My mum had stayed back to help tidy up and put the hymn books away, and well, Reverend Percy had been having a difficult time.  He was a young vicar back then, in his twenties.”  Jennifer paused, and looked at Edith, then to Albert and Betty.  “Mum was a bit older and he confided in her, seems he was quite a handsome chap back then, slimmer too, and anyway, they cracked open a bottle of communion wine, and that led to another and that led to, well, you know, in the vestry, and well, nine months later, there I am!”

“Reverend Hughes!?”  Edith and Betty exclaimed in unison.  Albert almost spat out his beer.

“So now you know,” said Jennifer, her face straight but the corners of her mouth twitching, “but please keep it to yourselves,” and she tapped the side of her nose.  “Now I must speak to the other guests,” and she got up, leaving Betty, Edith and Albert quite speechless.  “Oh, just one more thing,” Jennifer turned, a smile across her face, “I’m a bit of a joker too, so I’ll just leave that with you.  Do help yourselves to the buffet.”