Father in a Fix by Neil Boyd

Author:Neil Boyd
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781504005203
Publisher: Open Road Media

Eight

ALL AT SEA

Wednesday morning began unpromisingly. It was dark, damp and wet.

Fr. Duddleswell and I were standing inside the church porch, vested, awaiting the hearse. The church was empty save for Mrs. Pring and a handful of regular Mass-goers.

‘What’s the weather forecast?’ I asked out of the corner of my mouth, in the best priestly manner.

‘I am not worried, Father Neil. God looks after His own.’

‘Whoever they are.’

‘You are coming on the boat trip afterwards, Father Neil?’

‘No, Father.’

‘You are a stiff-necked curate and no mistake.’

I rubbed my neck where it still hurt. ‘Put that down to your driving,’ I said.

‘Do you want me to think of you as a gutless coward?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘Very well, lad,’ he sighed, ‘but do not say I didn’t ask you before I made you.’ He stamped his feet. ‘Now, where is the blessèd hearse?’

I told him I’d heard the car drive up a couple of minutes before.

Mr. Freddie Williams came into view, his top hat under his arm. He advanced in front of only two pallbearers who were carrying the Big Sack. On a stretcher.

‘What in the name of God …’ Fr. Duddleswell groaned. ‘Is that the body or a hundredweight of coal?’

Mr. Williams motioned his men to stop for the blessing and I handed Fr. Duddleswell the sprinkler.

‘I am not sure,’ he whispered, ‘if ’tis dead or merely wounded.’

He sprinkled the Sack with Holy Water in the form of a cross and while the pallbearers proceeded up the centre aisle he made signs to Mr. Williams that he wanted a word.

‘Why no coffin, Freddie?’

‘You know it’s not needed for a burial at sea, Father.’

‘Surely you could have boxed him up decent, like, for the Requiem Mass.’

‘Father,’ Mr. Williams pointed out, ‘you gave me strict orders to economize in every possible way.’

Fr. Duddleswell put on a grieved expression. ‘You could have loaned me a coffin for an hour or two.’

Mr. Williams looked shocked. ‘We don’t hire them out, Father. It’s not hygienic, you know. I mean to say, how would you like it?’

He followed his men up the centre aisle to where the catafalque, surrounded by six big yellow candles, stood in front of the High Altar.

‘Only two pallbearers, Father,’ I said softly, ‘and you don’t have to pay a grave-digger. That’s what I call economy.’

‘But what Christian was ever buried without a coffin, tell me that.’

‘Jesus, Father?’

He gave me one of his special looks. As we walked round the catafalque to begin the Mass, he said, ‘God Almighty, this one looks like something out of Tutankhamun’s tomb.’

We travelled in one hearse to the docks. The two pallbearers were in front. The rest of us sat in the back around the Sack.

‘Sorry it’s a bit cramped,’ Mr. Williams said.

‘There’ll be a bit more room on the way back,’ I said.

Mr. Williams appreciated that. ‘You are a cheerful lad, I like that happy approach. Do you know, I can’t recruit young chaps like you any more.’

‘No?’

He shook his head sadly. ‘They’ve got this funny idea that somehow the job is morbid.

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