Funeral

One morning my mother and I were woken by a polite knocking on our back door. We quickly dressed and rushed downstairs, expecting bad news, as bad news always arrives with a polite knock.

 

Sure enough it was Alun, dressed in black and bearing a sombre expression.

 

“It’s my father,” he said, “he passed away during the night.”

 

Alun senior had long been ill, a heart condition brought on by getting too worked up about trivial issues.

 

“I’m so sorry,” I said.

 

Later that day a council official arrived. By arrangement Alun met him at our house, so as to gain our assistance in going through the paperwork. The doctor had come with the official and he examined Alun’s father, confirming that he was genuinely dead (and not faking it to avoid tax, like he had a few years previously) and that the most likely cause was a heart attack.

 

The doctor and official then completed the relevant forms. Though it had taken the doctor merely a minute to confirm death it took him over an hour to confirm it officially, having to complete the orange, red, green and blue forms. With his work done the doctor returned to the mainland on his private boat, which he used for his occasional visits to our archipelago.

 

The council official remained, however, as there was still a pile of forms left to complete, ranging in colours from orange to black.

 

“About the funeral,” he said, “Mr Davies was the island’s priest of all faiths. With no replacement appointed you will need to arrange for someone from the mainland to conduct the service.  I’d be happy to approach the appropriate church on your behalf. What were his religious convictions?”

 

“He didn’t have any,” Alun said.

“But he was a man of the church.”

 

“Yes, but that was his job. He didn’t actually believe in it. He said that all this talk of heaven and hell was a load of rubbish and that when you died you just laid in the ground being eaten by worms.”

 

“I’m speechless,” the council official said, demonstrating once again his poor understanding of English.

 

“You’re right, of course,” Alun said, “it’s nonsense to think it’s the worms that eat you, it’s bacteria that nibble away at you microscopic bite by microscopic bite, but he’s a simple man. He WAS a simple man.”

 

“Well, who do you want to bury him? Which church?”

 

“I don’t really mind,” Alun said. “We don’t really need a religion here now, there’s only three of us and we all behave ourselves.”

 

The council official looked shocked, either at Alun’s atheistic streak or the claim that we behave ourselves – the rumours that circulate across the mainland about what us islanders get up to when the mainland isn’t looking are simply shocking.

 

“Well, I will inform all of the mainland religious orders on your behalf and if any are willing and able to send a representative to conduct the service they will contact you, so that you can make the appropriate choice.”

 

With that major decision deferred it simply left another four hours’ form filling before the council official was satisfied that Alun’s father was dead on paper as well as in the flesh. 

 

Early the next morning I was surprised to be woken early by a hammering on my back door. It was Alun.

 

I quickly dressed and ran downstairs. “What is it?” I asked.

 

“We’ve being overrun with vicars and priests,” he said. “Look outside.”

 

Sure enough, outside the door was a long line of religious figures, vicars, priests and even representatives of the non-mainland-faith involving enormous beards and strange hats.

 

“What do they all want?” I asked. The island had never seen so many religious figures. Indeed, Alun’s father, the Priest of All Faiths, was the only religious figure I had ever known.

 

“The council sent them,” he said. “The official said a couple of faiths would contact me, instead I’ve got every religion in the world trying to wrestle me to the ground.”

 

As soon as Alun stepped outside he was bombarded by requests. “I’m sure your father would prefer to be buried by Mainland Religion 1,” the first man said.

 

Another religious representative tugged on his coat-tails. “God is blessed and forgiving of all sins. A service conducted by Mainland Religion 2 would ensure that he found his way quickly to eternal bliss.”

 

A bald, smiley man grabbed hold of Alun’s shoelace. “A bald-smiley-people service would ensure that your father’s soul achieves enlightenment,” he said. “It wouldn’t be an exclusive service, you could invite all your friends.” He alluded to the vicars and priests surrounding him.

 

“They’re no friends of mine,” Alun barked.

 

The walk back to his house was the most difficult Alun would ever take, with vicars and priests constantly throwing themselves in front of him or physically grabbing his clothing.

 

As soon as the clock reached official mainland council working hours, which was admittedly after many hours of priestly pestering, Alun phoned the council and explained the problem.

 

To his credit, the council official arrived on the afternoon boat. He wasn’t even carrying a clipboard, a sure sign that he meant action.

 

“What have you done?” asked Alun, “there are dozens of vicars, priests and obscure non-mainland religious figures pestering every step I take. All I wanted was to bury my father, why does the council have to turn everything into a farce?”

“I merely sent a short memo to all the local religious orders. I wasn’t expecting anything more than one or two of them to phone you to discuss possible arrangements. You must have something of interest to them. You haven’t got God walled up in a cave somewhere on the island have you? (This sort of malicious rumour is rife on the mainland, and I would like to ensure readers that we don’t keep any gods bricked up in caves as our prisoner).

 

“I know exactly what they want,” Alun spat, “they’re after our empty church.”

 

“The empty church?”

 

“It’s a three story, mock tudor mansion (it was built during Tudor times and used by our ancestors to mock the Tudors on the mainland). It has over 100 rooms and all mod cons, and unlike other churches it doesn’t have annoying extras like altars, pews, graveyards. Whichever church conducts the service becomes the official religion of the island and gets ownership of the church.”

 

“But why would they want a church here, on the island.”

 

“It’s a perfect holiday retreat ,or it could be used a conference centre. It can accommodate over 100 people, with large rooms and a range of activities available. It’s worth a fortune in the wrong hands.”

 

“Let me go and talk to them,” the council official said. “I’m sure we can find a way to get them to leave you alone.”

 

The council official set off to meet with the religious representatives. He was gone a number of hours, and we were beginning to wonder if he’d given up and gone home when we were interrupted by a polite knock on the door. It was the council official.

 

“I’ve got a solution,” he said.

 

“What’s that?” asked Alun.

 

“Well, you were right. All of the churches are attracted by the empty church. It is, as you say, a perfect facility for conferences and religious holidays. But I’m managed to come up with a proposal they’re happy with. If all of the religions take part in the service, this will remain an island of all faiths, with each religion entitled to use the facility for two weeks every year.”

“But how will that work?” I asked, “how can two dozen different religions conduct the same funeral?”

 

“By relay,” the official explained, “an order of service will be agreed in advance and each representative will read a short extract from the service.”

 

“That’s a stupid idea,” Alun shouted back, angrier than I’ve ever seen him. “This is my father’s funeral we’re talking about, not some child’s game of pass the coffin. Besides, I don’t want this island besieged by religious trainees and holidaying priests and popes every day. Look at them,” he said gesturing to the various religious figures, “they spoil the view”.

 

“Well, who will conduct the ceremony? Somebody has to.”

 

“I will. I’m entitled to claim the title of ‘priest of all faiths’ from my father. Bring me all the forms and paperwork I need to sign and I will take up the role.”

 

“Right, okay,” the official said reluctantly. “I’ll go and break the bad news to them.”

 

And so Alun gave the service for his father. As a good ‘priest of all faiths’ there was no mention of religion, or god, simply a celebration of his father’s life. To their credit, the representatives of the non-mainland-faith involving smiling bald people and the non-mainland-faith involving enormous beards both attended the funeral, as did Alun’s father’s friends from every island across the archipelago. Neil Armstrong was unable to attend the service, but sent a piece of moonrock, which was laid in the grave alongside Alun senior’s body.

 

After the ceremony Alun declared that the empty church would no longer be a religious building and it would henceforth be known as the empty house, to be used for the general benefit of the community (in other words for whichever mad scheme came to Alun’s mind next).  The crowd descended on the ‘empty house’, where a glorious lunch had been laid out for all attendees.