Our Dear Defarted

“Wot are you implying, Vicar?”

“You tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“What do you think it’s about?”

“I dunno. You tell me.”

“Look, I know it was you. We all know it was you.”

“You’re implying it was me. It could have been anyone around me.”

“Then why did your row part on either side of you, as if Moses had just turned up at the Red Sea?”

“You’re pointing your finger at me.”

“Does it suddenly create the urge to pull it?”

“I’m not crude like that.”

“Crude is crude – whether demonstrative or not, and this whole conversation of who-did-what-when, and wasn’t-me, is pantomimable farce publicly played out in front of a church full of mourners. Just admit what you did, and let’s find an agreed solution to the fallout, okay?”

“Why would I admit anything to your inquisition?”

“Just admit it, man!”

“Admit what?”

“You know perfectly well. I know perfectly well. The whole row in front of you and behind you know perfectly well what you did.”

“Then, if everyone is so acquainted with what I’ve allegedly done, why ask stupid questions?”

“I must apologise to all of you here, today. This is rapidly draining my resolve. Not to mention holding up my next funeral service. I shall take a moment to clear my head, and while I do, consider this, young man: The man who asks a question is a fool for a minute, the man who does not ask is a fool for life.”

“What fool?”

“Not what, who.”

“Okay, who is the fool?”

“That should be obvious to you. Ever heard of Confucius?”

“Yeah, that’s me, mate. Totally confused.”

“He was a Chinese philosopher.”

“I know who he was. Why are you bringing him into this?”

“Because, he also said that man who fart in church, sit in his own pew. So, why don’t you get your uncontrollable smelly belly and take it down the back where there’s an empty row! There’s a good chap.”

“Did you just paraphrase?”

“Answering in what I guess to be close to your vernacular, You get the gist. Back row, now!”

“Okay, okay. If that’s how you want me saying goodbye to me mum, then fine.”

“I’d dare say your mother smells a lot better in her current state than you do alive… Oh, please forgive me everyone. That was in extremely bad taste… Look, I’m truly sorry and completely embarrassed. Eulogies can be quite a stressful time for me. Look, I propose that in the pursuit of peace and harmony, and in respect to our dear departed, Margaret, would you please resume your seat and let’s just put your gaseous accident down to grief. I’ll file my little foobar statement under papal tension. Please everyone, let’s rewind back to why we are all here, and indulge me in continuing the eulogy – albeit, somewhat tarnished in its execution.”

“It does not matter how slow you go, so long as you do not stop.”

“I’m sorry, what!?”

“Confucius, Padre. My way of sayin’ carry on.”

“That’s very kind of you, and for your information, I’m more commonly referred to as, Reverend.”

“Right.”

“Reverend William Montague, but please feel free to call me, Will.”

“Will do, Willy boy.”

“I can still order you to the back of my church, you know.”

“Don’t impose on others what you don’t desire, Rev. And aren’t you just the caretaker of God’s house?”

“Ah, what wit from such an avid student of both theology and Confucius.”

“I’m a follower of philosophy, Will. A result of many hours spent reading in solitary introspect.”

“Well, it’s given you enough knowledge to be somewhat bothersome, hasn’t it. Right! Where was I? Ah, yes. If we could all give Margaret our undivided attention, please, then I shall continue.

To our dear defarted, Margaret. Sorry, sorry, It’s my handwriting. It should read, Our dear departed, Margaret… Speaking with those loved ones you have sadly left behind; they are all in agreement of so many things they will miss. Your kindness to animals, your wit amongst social gatherings of family and friends, and your vodka.”

“She didn’t drink, Rev, erm Will.”

“What’s that? It specifically says here in my handwritten notes that… family, friends, and your walk- walker! Sorry, my wife says I have doctors’ writing. Yes, that makes more sense of the next bit on how she used to decorate her walker to commemorate the many celebrations throughout the year. Tinsel at Christmas, Cardboard hearts at Valentine’s Day, Green tinsel for St. Patrick’s Day, etcetera etcetera.”

“Don’t forget Movember.”

“Movember?”

“Yeah, Every November in the care home, she’d platt her chin whiskers and dye them red for charity.”

“How extraordinary. How much did she raise?”

“Not a penny. None of the other old codgers in the shelter had any money left after the care home took ‘em for a ride. Didn’t stop her from repeating her challenge every year, though.”

“Every year? How long was she in care?”

“Oh, give or take a year, erm… thirty-seven years.”

“Thur, thur, thirty-seven…? That’s downright absurd. She must have been a young woman when she went in.”

“Yeah, she started there after my younger brother was born.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. Was it early onset dementia?”

“Nah, early onset necessity.”

“I don’t follow.”

“She was a single mother, you see… twice. So, needed a job to support us all, didn’t she.”

“…Oh, I see. She first was a staff member there.”

“Yeah. Dementia came later.”

“I understand, now. Still, that must have been difficult and challenging for you, seeing her decline like that.”

“Tell me about it, Reverend. Her memory got so bad that on several occasions, she’d forget to pick me up from prison.”

“Prison? How many times were you in…? Sorry, everyone. We’ve digressed. Even though I see that your ears have pricked up on this man’s little admission.”

“Old news to most here, Will. I reckon at least half the people in here have at one time or another, testified in court regarding my light-fingered escapades.”

“Well, it must be a testament to your character that so many spoke up for you in the halls of justice.”

“No, Will. I meant that they testified against me.”

“Oh.”

“Even the judges were astonished at how many times I was housed at her majesty’s pleasure. The screws know me so well in some lockups, that they’ve issued me a Frequent Felon card to use in prison commissaries.”

“If there is righteousness in the heart, my son. Then, there will be beauty in the character…”

“If there is beauty in the character, Will. there will be harmony in the home. I never had that; you see. Harmony in the home, that is. A revolving door of Daddy wannabees came and went, but all wanting something in return. It finally dawned on Mum that the only one that could take care of herself… was herself. Listen, shouldn’t we be doing this a bit more privately, like in a confessional booth?”

“Right church, my son. Just the wrong pew. Purely Protestant here. However, if what you broadcast to everyone here is indeed true, I’m sure it’s common knowledge and recorded somewhere in the court system’s public records. So, all of this is Old Hat – as you might say.

“Just in case anyone is really interested, Will. That last proverb continues with, If there is harmony in the home, there will be order in the nations. So, since childhood, me and me bruvver was fighting a losing battle all the way.”

“Yes, but forget not the closing part of that proverb: When there is order in the nations, there will be peace in the world. Your mother must have found some sense of order in her illness, for she truly is at peace, now.”

“I’m not sure that comforts anyone, Reverend.”

“No, perhaps not. But it does lead me to an amusing story I’d like to share with you all here today. So, with your permission… Who could forget the time that Margaret mistook a cat for her own reflection in the mirror and spent a good five minutes having a conversation with herself, all the while cleaning her ears and wondering why the cat wasn't responding?”

“She had dementia, Reverend. That cat conversation happened in the final weeks before she, you know.”

“Went to sit by God’s side?”

“Kicked the bucket, yeah.”

“Right. I do beg your pardon. Okay, then. Another morsel of jocularity was described to me by Detective Constable Billings of the local police station – whom I see is in attendance this morning at the end of your row, curiously connected to you at arm’s length by a set of handcuffs… Anyway, the sergeant passed on a little Margaret history and told me about the times when she would drive to the shops, continuously mistaking the accelerator pedal for the brake.”

“That’s what put her into care, Rev. That, and a broken ankle. Hence, the decorated vodka-walker.”

“Facetiousness, yes. Touché. Well, I’m sure all of us here can agree that Margaret’s journeys were never boring.”

“Nah, broken walls, bent lampposts, smashed wing mirrors. Never boring, Rev. Just hazardous.”

“However, all insurance claims aside: Let us remember along the bumpy highway of her tumultuous travels, how Margaret had a way of making each one of us feel special and loved, by bringing such blissful joy into our daily lives.”

“That’s why so many men came to visit her in her younger years, Will. The promise of continual blissful joy.”

“…Then there was the look of surprise on her neighbour’s face when confetti fell from the sky, just as they were leaving for work. An image forever etched in Margaret’s neighbour’s memories.”

“Those were burning embers from the toaster that she set fire to - along with the new kitchen cabinets in her care home assessment apartment.”

“Moving along: Margaret was not just a tad forgetful, everyone. She was also a loving and caring soul. She never missed an opportunity to lend a helping hand or to stand up for what she believed in.”

“Unless you made her miss bingo night down at the Old Odeon. Then see how helping a hand she’d be to you after that. You’d be lucky to get a nod hello for weeks on end afterwards.”

“Yes, I do recall her once labelling me a tosser when refusing to share one Sunday’s collection box with her favourite charity.”

“Yeah, that was mum, alright.”

“But moving on: Let us recall a humorous snippet about how Margaret once convinced an entire neighbourhood to dress up as llamas to protest the high price of avocados. While it may not have solved the avocado crisis, it did bring a much-needed smile to everyone's face.”

“Yeah, that was a disaster, as well. For authenticity, she stayed in character and spat at anyone not donating money to her favourite charity; The old Llamas of Peru.”

“Oh dear. Did she get into trouble for that?”

“Her case was right after my shoplifting charge. When the judge realised that he’d just sent her son down for six months, he let her off with a warning.”

“That was very fortunate for her.”

“Seems the judge recognised her from years prior. Thing is, he failed to recognise that the young boy he used to pat on the head when frequenting our house, was the same young man he’d just remanded.”

“Well, it appears that Margaret had somewhat of a colourful life and has left many enduring memories for others to later recall, perhaps?”

“Well, she wasn’t gonna remember them, was she.”

“That’s quite harsh, my son. She certainly made sure you were left with a roof over your head.”

“But no will.”

“No will?”

“No, Will.”

“But she promised me that she would contribute to our own Save The Roof fund - after she passed.”

“Yeah, that was mum, for ya. Promises that kept you happy until they didn’t. Promises are only of worth to the giver.”

“Confucius?”

“Nah, that one’s mine.”

“Well, I’m sure there’s a good solicitor amongst us here that can help you with that.”

“Unless I can use Legal Aid, Will. I’ll have to wait for intestate. But then I’ll have to fight me bruvver for the furniture, telly, toaster, and those stupid trinkets on her mantlepiece.”

“When you say, fight?”

“Fisticuffs, Will. Out on the street where we always settle our disagreements.”

“Surely there’d be no need for violence in this matter?”

“Tell me bruvver that. He’s a Category B inmate. I’ve always been a Category C.”

“What is the difference?”

“You don’t want me explaining it to you in front of witnesses, Will. At least not under this roof.”

“Is your brother here, today?”

“Nah, he’s banged up for another three months on a charge of ABH.”

“ABH?”

“Actual Bodily Harm. On a postman.”

“Oh, dear. What in heaven’s name could a postman have done to insult your brother?”

“He delivered the eviction notice for non-payment to the care home.”

“Oh, my goodness.”

“I sorted the debt by fencing some jewellery I Knocked off from me mum’s care home neighbours.”

“I’m not too sure you should be admitting that here – in front of a certain person sitting next to you.”

“Done and dusted, Will. Insurance companies paid out for all the losses. Plus, all those gold necklaces, rings, and watches have been smelted down by several Cash My Gold businesses. So, there’s no evidence left to prove anything. I’m in the clear.”

“Your poor mother’s mental state must have suffered tremendously knowing you were stealing from her neighbours.”

“Inmates is what she referred to them as. Nah, she was alright. Her failing memory soon forgot my misadventures. Just like when she’d never sense the lengthy absences between our visits. Most of the time, she thought she was still at home – back when we was young, and that me and me bruvver had just gotten out of bed and come down for breakfast. When we’d visit, there’d be a couple of burnt pieces of toast, plus cups of cold tea waiting for us. Of course, she never knew when we were gonna turn up, so the toast and tea were usually days old and mouldy. But to make things look normal, we’d arrive in our dressing gowns and slippers, and pretend everything was the way it used to be.”

“There you go, friends and family gathered here today. A glorious example of dedicated sons, motherly love, and unbounded generosity. What a legacy Margaret has left this world. We will miss you Margaret, and all your idiosyncrasies. Heaven is surely warmer in your company.”

“That’s coz she’s probably opened up the cellar door and invited you-know-who in from down below.”

“I can assure you, my son, that there is no temptation in the kingdom of heaven. If it is warmer up there, then it is because the sun shines God’s glorious rays upon his celestial land. Now, as we have another funeral waiting in the proverbial wings, we must make haste. So, let us now bow our heads and close with the following words: Margaret, your race is run, your work here is complete, and now you rest in the arms of our Heavenly Father. You have been a faithful servant, and we are eternally grateful for the impact you have made upon our lives and upon our souls. May you rest in peace, and may your legacy of faith, hope, and love continue to guide us on our own spiritual journeys… Please stand everyone as Margaret is transported from here to her eternal resting place.”

“Hang on a mo, Rev. You’ve got me thinking, now. What if she has gone to the other place?”

“I’m sure the Angel Gabriel whisked her away at least thirty minutes before Lucifer knew she had passed. Now, we must get on with things. I’m under a performance review by the diocese.”

“But she wasn’t a regular Sunday service kind of woman. Especially, when the bingo was on.”

“My son, even though she preferred Sunday bingo to the words of the Lord, I can assure you that her focus was always on godly rewards. Now, please. I only have two minutes in which to get everyone out of here.”

“But… what about her swearing at God?”

“I am informed through several sources that not winning at bingo frequently caused Margaret to take the Lord’s name in varying degrees of blasphemous vanity. Perhaps..”

“..So, is that not a black mark against her?”

 “Stop interrupting! I was about to say that perhaps, that is why I sometimes discovered her during an afternoon, introvertedly sitting in the row next to the collection box, contemplating God’s true meaning. Most likely, it was her way of doing penance. There’s nothing God loves more than a sinner repenting. Now, please. I’m about to go over the allotted time, and I’m being monitored through the live streaming of this service.”

“But what if Gabriel had had a busy day when she died and was late to me mum’s collection point?”

“Dammit, my son! If the archangel Gabriel ran late and Lucifer just happened to be passing by and saw your mum waiting for pick-up, then her soul is well and truly fucked! Now, get the hell out of my church…!”