Fantasy Funeral

Copyright Oggbashan December 2020

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

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"Arthur? I want a joyful noise unto the Lord." Idris said.

"There will be, Idris," I promised. "We start with the Scots marching through the City, and then a nine-gun salute from your Royal Artillery."

"There will be choirs, and dancers?"

"Yes, Idris. There will be the Cathedral choir, the Boys and Girls Cathedral choirs, the Miners' Male voice choir, the London Welsh choir and of course the congregation as well."

"Good, Arthur. I will appreciate a noisy send off. Who knows, I might turn up myself to take part."

Idris closed his eyes. He was very tired on what we all knew was his death bed. He had only hours to live.

Idris Jones, formerly Major Idris of the Royal Artillery during the Normandy campaign, three times Mayor of Canterbury, Sir Idris, MC, and many other awards was dying at the age of ninety-five. He would have a Civic Funeral celebration in Canterbury Cathedral and I, as the current Mayor's Secretary, had been told to arrange it.

The Mayor had told me to discuss it with Idris and the budget was unlimited. Apart from City Council funds so many companies and individuals had promised help or finance to make sure Idris' life was celebrated in spectacular fashion. So much of what the City currently was owed its existence to Idris.

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Two weeks later, the night before the event, I was in bed awake with my head spinning with all the details for tomorrow. So much could go wrong. But whatever happened, Idris would have his noise.

I was most worried about the end of the one minute silence. Idris had insisted on only one minute. He said that was long enough to stop a whole city -- and it would.

All the traffic lights would stay red for that minute. The railway level crossing gates would be shut; the trains waiting in the stations; the shops and supermarkets would announce the beginning and end of the minute and tills wouldn't operate.

But the end of the minute would be announced by a nine gun salute from the Royal Artillery sited on the hill by the University, nearly a mile from the City Walls. The officer in charge had assured me that we would hear it, even inside the cathedral. I wasn't convinced. I had arranged if necessary, to signal to the organist and the bell ringers if we didn't hear the guns.

I finally slipped into a restless sleep still worried by the organisation for tomorrow.

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At ten-thirty I was standing by the main Cathedral Gate, hearing the pipes and drums of the Scots as they marched down the City's main street. Idris would have been pleased at the wall of sound as the band marched down the narrow street leading to the Buttermarket. The pipes and drums took up position to one side of the gate as the soldiers, kilts swinging, bayonets fixed and standards flying, marched through the gate into the Cathedral Precincts.

I hurried past the band as it followed the troops and took up my position inside the Cathedral entrance. Most of the congregation were already in place. I had to wait for the Civic procession and take my place just behind the present Lord Mayor. We processed down the centre aisle to take our places in the front rows. I was on a left hand end, ready to slip out if anything went wrong, and I was due to give the last reading from the Bible.

Just before eleven o'clock the Dean came forward and asked people to stand for the one minute's silence. The cathedral bells seemed loud in the silence and I counted all eleven strikes for the hour. I readied myself, with my eyes on the second hand of my watch, ready to signal if the guns weren't heard.

I shouldn't have worried. The Cathedral shook. The whole City shook. The Royal Artillery had brought three of their most powerful artillery pieces, 155mm cannon, I think, and the explosions were ear-shattering even inside the cathedral. (Later I had to pay the bills for a dozen broken windows.)

The first Hymn was 'Onward Christian Soldiers'. I think Idris would have been pleased. Five choirs, the Scots, the congregation, the Scots band, two brass bands and the organ were all trying to be louder than each other.

The first man came forward for a Bible reading. His text was: Matthew 7:24-27

24 "Therefore, whosoever heareth these sayings of Mine and doeth them, I will liken him unto a wise man, who built his house upon a rock.

25 And the rain descended and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat upon that house; and it fell not, for it was founded upon a rock.

26 And every one that heareth these sayings of Mine and doeth them not, shall be likened unto a foolish man, who built his house upon the sand;

27 and the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell, and great was the fall of it."

He closed the Bible and said:

"I represent the Council tenants of this City. I live in the first council house built by Idris and his father eighty years ago. Idris was an apprentice at that time but he went on to build many hundreds of council houses here. They, like mine, are all well-built -- to a standard not a price and his company rarely made a profit on them. They just wanted to build good houses the City would be proud of. Thanks to Idris, they are."

He walked away as the next hymn was announced -- The Lord of The Dance.

We had to wait a few minutes while the dancers assembled, from the ballet school and dance club that Idris had founded and financed. They danced while we sung.

For the next reading a nun and an officer from the German army walked forward together. They shook hands before he stood back while she read the parable of the Good Samaritan.

She said:

"I am the Mother Superior of a convent of nuns of Pity near Bayeux in France. We were and are a nursing order. Shortly after D-Day in 1944 we were between the Allies and a German counter attack. Since our convent is on a hill it was an obvious place to attack or to defend. But Major Idris kept us safe. How? My friend will explain."

She stood back and the German Officer took her place.

"My father was the commander of a company of tanks advancing to attack the British. They were close to the convent when they were startled by a jeep with a white flag that stopped in front of our first tank. It was Major Idris. Major Idris explained in fluent German that the convent housed injured troops, Allied and German, and should be left alone. He said that he and his men were on a wooded hill about five hundred yards from the convent, determined to stop us. They would not fire while we were close to the convent, which we had to pass, but once two hundred metres beyond, marked by a white line painted on the road, he would open fire, and so could we.

My father agreed and they shook hands. My father felt, given the power of British anti-tank guns of the day, that he would have no difficulty pushing Major Idris and his men out of the wood so they could advance to attack the main British force. But Major Idris was also aware of the inadequacy of British anti-tank guns. Before D-Day his troops had been stationed near the Royal Navy's gunnery school on Whale Island. Major Idris had persuaded the commandant of Whale Island to give him some 1890s naval guns that had been used by naval detachments in the Boer War. They were old but much larger than 1940s anti-tank guns.

When Idris' men opened fire, my father was shocked. The first tank was just a heap of broken metal that it was difficult to imagine had been a tank. It had been hit, at point blank range, by a 9.2 inch naval shell. My father hastily withdrew but not before two more of his tanks had been destroyed. He called for a Tiger tank. That too was wrecked half a mile from Major Idris' position.

Half an hour later, my father was cut off by American tanks advancing on his rear. He surrendered to Major Idris. The convent had been saved and many of my father's men."

The officer raised his hand. A British brass band played the wartime Panzerlied while the officer wiped his eyes with a handerchief.

The officer moved away to lay a wreath with the German flag on the steps leading up to the choir.

The Mother Superior gave a signal. A dozen nuns, singing in Latin, walked up the aisle and laid bunches of lilies on the steps before the Mother Superior joined them as they walked back down the aisle.

The Next hymn was Immortal, Invisible. The first verse was sung by the London Welsh and Miners' choirs in Welsh before everyone joined in for the second and subsequent verses.

Another German officer took his place at the lectern. After his reading about loving one's neighbour he said:

"Major Idris was at the Battle of Falaise Gap. His artillery were firing into the massed German troops trapped in the pocket when he ordered a cease fire and asked for the air attack to cease as well. He drove forward, again with a white flag on his jeep, until he met the commander of the troops opposite him. They were a Volksturm, what you English would call Home Guard, battalion, drawn from villages in the Black Forest, mainly older men and boys.

Major Idris asked for their surrender because otherwise his men would just slaughter them where they stood. They could be of no help to the German forces today, or if they died, no help to Germany after the war. The commander agreed. Two thousand men, the largest unit to survive the Falaise Pocket, marched out. Major Idris' men looked after them and ensured they had food and shelter before they were sent to England as prisoners of war.

Two months later Major Idris was injured and evacuated back to England. He was relieved of front line duties but he asked to be given command of the prison camp that held 'his' volksturm. He arranged for men from his building company to train the prisoners as tradesmen, in all the building trades, at first so they could build proper accommodation for themselves before the winter but he explained that they were not helping the Allied War effort but helping themselves and the skills they were learning would be needed to rebuild Germany after the war. They were, and our villages recovered faster than many."

The officer stood back from the lectern. Twelve women, dressed in formal Black Forest costumes, walked up the aisle as the brass band played Madel auf Dem Schwartzenwald. They laid red flowers on the steps. All the flowers left a space in the middle for people to walk through.

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The service continued with reading, hymns and tributes to Idris. The highlight for me, was when the two male voice choirs sung a hymn in Welsh followed by the Welsh national anthem. I was surprised that the Scots soldiers had obviously been practising and at least half of the rest of the congregation also sung in Welsh.

It came to the time that I had to deliver the reading; The Beatitudes in the King James version. Afterwards, the Reverend Mary, Idris' parish priest, would deliver the Nunc Dimittis before the final hymn.

I read the passage very clearly and loudly but I was puzzled before the end even though I didn't allow my puzzlement to affect my delivery. A group of people, not just the Reverend Mary, were assembling under the tower. That was not in my arrangements for the service.

I stood back from the lectern and waited to see what would happen. A group of men, mostly dressed in various forms of monks' attire and carrying processional crosses or bishops' crooks, slowly walked up the aisle. The organist had seen what was happening and launched into a slow processional march.

I couldn't believe my eyes. In the centre of the group was Idris with his trademark four-wheeled walker. That was impossible. Idris is dead.

The monks arranged themselves across the steps leading to the choir. Idris came across to me.

"Thank you, Arthur," he said quietly. "You did me proud. But now?"

He went to the lectern and turned on the microphone. I stood back in shock.

"Good morning, Ladies and Gentlemen, and thank you for being here today. I know it is a social faux-pas to attend one's own commemorative service but I couldn't resist, nor could my friends."

Idris pointed at the monks.

"They want to say a few words. But before they do, be assured that this is not computer generated imagery, nor am I an actor playing the role of Idris. I am Idris. How I can be here, I know not, but here I am. The people who will speak after me have been given the apostles' gift of tongues. Many will speak in Latin or in an English you wouldn't understand but you will hear them in your native tongue, whatever that is. And the first? He will always be the first in Canterbury. Please welcome Saint Augustine."

The congregation sat in shocked silence. They hadn't expected this.

Saint Augustine said a few words about how pleased he was to be standing in such a magnificent cathedral, the product of centuries of dedicated believers. He gave a general blessing before introducing Saint Thomas A Becket.

Saint Thomas' speech was more fiery, appealing for a reaffirmation of faith and for disputes between Christians to end. He ended:

"In the place of my death, a Pope and an Archbishop knelt together in prayer. What they did, so should you all."

He also gave a general blessing.

He was followed by many English saints, some of them local Bishops but their words didn't really register with me until I saw the video playback days later.

Saint Augustine and Saint Thomas stood together while the other saints walked back down the aisle.

The others picked up a platform which I recognised as being the one used by the local catholic church for their processions with a statue of the Virgin Mary. They helped a small woman who was giggling as they loaded her on to the platform and to sit on the throne. They carried her back up the aisle.

As they got closer I saw she was a very small middle-aged woman of Middle Eastern appearance wearing a shabby faded blue dress. They swung around to put the platform down facing the congregation. The woman looked puzzled. She wanted to speak but didn't have a microphone. I unclipped the one from the lectern and took it across to her.

"Thank you, Arthur," she said quietly.

She passed the microphone to Saint Thomas.

"The Blessed Virgin Mary would like to say a few words," Saint Thomas said before passing the microphone back to her. There were gasps from the congregation.

"People of Canterbury," she began, "We have come to one of the places that brought Christianity to England, to celebrate that and for a specific purpose. Idris? Please come here."

Idris walked across to her. She got off the throne and moved to the edge of the platform before putting her hand on Idris' head.

"We recognise Idris as one of the saints." She said.

Idris, despite his walker, staggered.

"And now we will leave you with our blessing."

All the saints, including Idris, made the sign of the cross.

"The Reverend Mary? You can take over when we have left."

Saint Augustine and Saint Thomas helped the Virgin Mary off the platform. She passed the microphone back to me. As I stood there in shock, the whole group bowed to the congregation and walked up the steps into the choir. Later the choir reported that they had approached the High Altar, the site of Saint Thomas' shrine, and vanished.

The Reverend Mary slowly walked up the aisle. She was as small as the Virgin Mary but wearing a brand new brilliant blue robe. She took the microphone from my unresisting hand but needed my help to mount the platform where the Virgin Mary had been.

Her voice shook as she started the words of the dismissal but was stronger as she announced the final Hymn: "Joy to the world".

The first verse was ragged as the congregation took in what they had just seen. The chorus and the next verse were as loud as Idris would have liked them with the instruments, the choirs and the congregation trying to outdo each other.

As I walked back to my seat after the last verse the Mayor stopped me.

"Was that charade your idea, Arthur?" He hissed at me.

"No, Mayor. That was all Idris, himself. I was as close to him as I am to you now. That WAS Idris. And the saints and the Virgin Mary were real too. I don't know how, or why, but they were. You had better get used to the idea of many more pilgrims to Canterbury."

I went and sat down in my pew. I was still sitting there when all the Civic party and the whole congregation had left.

The Reverend Mary came and sat beside me.

"A miracle is a shock, isn't it, Arthur?" she said quietly.

"Yes Mary, it is. And being that close to the Virgin Mary? She looked almost like any other middle-aged woman but..."

"She spoke to you directly?"

"Only to say thank you for the microphone, Mary."

"More than that, Arthur. She spoke your name. I heard it. We all heard it. The microphone was on."

"She spoke yours too, Mary."

"I know. She spoke only three names, yours, mine and Idris. That makes us two very special, Arthur.

"I don't want to be special, Mary. I am just thankful that I had done my best for Idris."

"You did that, Arthur. Today will be remembered for centuries, with the three names spoken by the Virgin herself."

The Reverend Mary had to help me to walk out of the cathedral. I'm not sure who was holding whom up. We sat in a coffee shop in the Buttermarket. People left a space around us as if we were special. I suppose we are.

I shall never forget Idris' Civic Service.