Things come in threes, right? It was in Estoril in September when I took a telephone call that told me my dear chum Bill had died. Two days earlier a WhatsApp message imparted the news that Carol, the wife of an Army colleague whom I had first met in 1973, had died and gave information about her funeral. Three week’s ago my brother-in-law’s elderly little Yorkshire Terrier Buddy left for a different place. Each piece of news brought a flood of pertinent, personal memories but it wasn’t until I started Peter James’ latest novel, ‘One of Us is Dead’, that I thought I would scribble something on the subject of saying goodbye.
It wasn’t James’ description of a funeral service that brought me up short but his observations of a wake, for three days before I had been to Bill’s ‘Celebration of Life’, a ‘wake’ by any other name! It was as if James had been looking over my shoulder, down to the ‘….. and on tables bottles of Red and White wine, with no effort for the latter to be chilled.’
‘Sailing in The Baltic’! Alongside in Faaborg, Denmark 1972
Dear Bill! I had met him in Lippstadt, Germany in August 1972 when he was my Troop Commander in 27 Medium Regiment Royal Artillery. The Cold War was at its height and NATO faced the might of the Warsaw Pact across the Inner German Border. Additionally, in August 1969, Her Majesty’s Government had committed the military to assist the local police in Northern Ireland; so serious times. (Note 1) But it was also the time of Idi Amin, the President of Uganda, whose rule was characterized by political repression, ethnic persecution and rampant corruption. The British magazine Punch had a column devoted to Idi Amin’s week. Bill and David Morley, another Captain and great raconteur, had those of us taking morning coffee in the Officers’ Mess in fits, as they read the column out loud, taking on the voices and appropriate accents. Probably frowned upon now, certainly racist, but this was 1972! I was only in 27 Regiment for a year before moving down the road to Sennelager in preparation for 39 Medium Regiment’s first Northern Ireland tour in 1973.
Then we just kept in touch, met up now and again, that delightful result of good times and shared experiences remaining the glue to our friendship. Bill eventually retired from the Army as a colonel and got a job in the Ministry of Defence (MOD) as a Watchkeeper. Deep below the MOD building in Whitehall is an operations room, manned 24/7, that manages the Government’s overseas military operations. The Watchkeeper’s main role seemed to be preparing the morning brief for the Chief of Defence Staff, a task Bill would have been exemplary at. This Watchkeeper duty came round every few weeks, so not onerous and, after he was free, we’d try and meet for lunch in the Crusting Pie in Covent Garden. Bill was good at ‘chewing the fat’, although occasionally he would lean across the table and, fixing me with his beady eye, ask: ‘Now Richard, what do you think of the current situation in Timbuktu (or wherever)?’.
Bill developed Prostate Cancer. In April I met David Morley for lunch in Winchester and we had tried to entice Bill to join us ….. but he obviously didn’t feel up to it ….. so months later we came together to celebrate his life; no funeral, just a celebration, a chance to say goodbye and to thank him for his friendship.
A wake of sorts, but uncoloured by a prior service, and attended by those touched by Bill down the decades, from school friends, through Army service, to golf and tennis chums. The Royal Regiment of Artillery has a very distinctive tie so those who had served with Bill were very evident.
I am always curious about what are now called people’s ‘backstories’ and enjoyed talking to Jerry, one of his two schoolmates and subsequently British Airways Concorde pilot. Another chap, Martin, had served in The Gunners then became a Practice Manager in a law firm, retiring to the Salisbury suburb of Harnham, where he sculpts in his garden shed. His wife said they’d moved 18 times in their life together! Then there was John someone, who spoke to us all of Bill’s time in the Army. He knew me but couldn’t place me; I vaguely knew him, and we dodged around the question of when and where and even why. Memory fades! Bill and Lynne’s daughter Georgina spoke of Bill as her father, a family man through and through.
When I told Celina’s family the date of Carol’s funeral which then was to be in three weeks’ time, there was a sharp intake of breath, as Brazilians bury their dead within a day or two, as do many religions. I am a fan of a slight delay if only to allow those who might wish to attend but live far away to make the necessary arrangements. The funeral took place in the tiny parish church of St Mary’s The Virgin in Vernham Dean in deepest Hampshire and was extremely well attended.
We sang the appropriate hymns, listened to the eulogies, smiled at the oration of the popular poems regarding our departure from this earth …. and as the wicker casket was taken out for its committal, the heavens opened with a downpour of biblical proportions. Seemed apposite! Later, standing in the widower’s home for drinks and canapés, our wet clothes steamed …..! I later thought of how Covid was spread and how quickly we forget. One hundred people crammed into three rooms, 50% slightly deaf, bending an ear to hear!
One’s pets are all characters and Buddy was no different, but like us humans, their lives are finite.
Attendance at the funerals of family members is a duty, something expected of us. To go to those of friends is something different, a reflection of love and affection, of respect and humanity. As Christina Rossetti wrote:
“Better by far you should forget and smile, than that you should remember and be sad.”
Adieu Bill. Farewell Carol. Thank you Buddy. You lived your lives to the full.
Richard 18th October 2024
Hove
PS I hope things don’t come in fours!
Note 1 No one imagined this embryonic conflict would smoulder for almost thirty years, with the occasional period of more intense mayhem.
postcards 