Ants Aunts and Funerals Excerpt;
Excerpt From Ants Aunts And Funerals. Chapter Six.
The gale played a dirge through the branches of the
forbidding trees as they bent before it and threw pine cones toward the small
huddle of mourners already clustered at the graveside. The wind strumming the
electricity wires swaying high along the line of endless poles which followed
the road and made noises similar to the final notes issued from a poorly played
bagpipe.
Ravens flew up in
groups, circling and cawing creating a scene reminiscent of an old black and
white gothic movie. The birds looked intimidating. They were sleek, fat
creatures, well fed from gorging on the pickings from numerous rabbit and
wallaby road-kills and the occasional dead lamb from the paddocks surrounding
the cemetery.
The huddling,
shivering group of mourners walking holding their umbrellas in front of them
for protection as they made their way slowly along the narrow gravel track.
They looked like a small flotilla of boats with their bows bobbing and diving
against buffeting waves.
In the old ill-kempt part of the cemetery, a large
population of rabbits lived amongst the tombstones and several took exception
to the presence of the mourners by scuttling away hurriedly across the paths
which were overgrown with knots of weeds and prickly boxthorn bushes Their
white tails flashed amongst the waving grasses and then disappeared into the
burrows of large warrens dug deep beneath the graves. During the summer the
rabbits and the foxes which hunted them were joined by numerous snakes. These
enjoyed nothing better than to take pleasure in a luxurious snooze as they
basked in the sun on warmed slabs of granite and marble.
The old part had not been cleared up for years and although
the occasional tourist or person tracing their ancestors ventured through the
undergrowth and roamed amongst the broken and cracked headstones, no one else
bothered about it at all. Some of the most unstable monuments had already
fallen and smashed while others were so worn by decades of weather and neglect
they were already unreadable. The wrought iron railings with fleur-de-lis tops
were rusted and bent.
So much love, care and money had been lavished on these
memorials and now those buried beneath and the people who had once loved them
were gone and largely forgotten.
The town’s population
was too small to afford the establishment and maintenance of a lawn cemetery.
Anyone who chose to be buried in the old colonial site instead of being placed
in one of the larger regional towns still erected old fashioned head stones,
some of them extremely ostentatious.
Uncle Rodger and
Michael walked ahead of the women, the old man making hard going as he
carefully wheeled his walking frame between the small rivulets of water running
down the track’s incline.
‘Hello
Alf.’ He called to an elderly man walking unsteadily on his bowed legs in front
of them. A gust swept his voice away and the old man didn’t hear his greeting.
‘Always was a deaf old buffer.’ Uncle Rodger, who was as
equally deaf, complained. ‘I said Hello Alf!’ He called loudly once more.
‘What?’ The old man turned. ‘Oh. Hello Rodger. I thought I
saw you and Alice in front of me in church. Not many of us left now are there?’
His voice was gloomy, low and rasping. The indication of the
prolonged years he had spent with a strong brand of unfiltered ‘roll-your-own
cigarettes’ stuck to his dry and flaky lips. His clothes stank of the weed and
he would often have small pieces of tobacco or ash sprinkled liberally down his
front. The tell-tale burn holes in his ancient waist coat showed an indication
of its age in much the same way a tree marked its age by the rings of its
trunk.
Uncle Rodger ignored the remark. ‘This is my nephew-in-law
Michael. He’s married to Julie, you remember?’
He turned to Michael
‘Alf is Alice’s cousin. About the only one left from his family I think.’ From his expression, he appeared to think
this was not a bad thing.
Michael, not sure how
to answer this observation shook hands with the old man and felt the cold
parched skin beneath his and nodded. He thought they had met before but it didn’t
really matter.
Always
one to query people’s motives, Uncle Rodger asked.
‘I thought you and
Ken had a falling-out years ago?’
‘Yes we
did, but well,….. I live close by so I
thought I should do the right thing and show up for his funeral.’
‘You in
the local retirement village?’ Uncle Rodger kept firing questions at him.
‘Yes……
It comes to us all.’
‘Yes
well, you’ll find it’s worth coming just to get a decent bite of food
then.’ A sly
little smile played around his lips. He’d known Alf a long time and knew a free
feed had always brought him out of his home like a blow-fly to a barbeque.
They
walked on silently after Alf found he had nothing more to say to Rodger and put
on a spurt of speed; his knees lifting up and down like a badly controlled
marionette.
The Vicar was walking ahead of the hearse trying to slow
down the unseemly haste of the young hoon at the wheel who wanted to get home
get things tidied up in the funeral parlour for the next day’s ceremony
and have time to watch the cricket match
Michael was also hoping to see. The Ashes were being played in England and it
made for good late evening viewing during the wet days.
Try as he might
the Vicar was finding it difficult to add some solemnity to the occasion as his
surplice and cassock billowed up around him fluttering gaily in the wind. He
wondered as he walked if what he had said would have been of any help to
anyone. He knew there would have been people in the congregation who either
didn’t believe in an afterlife at all or who were frightened to deliberate on
their own mortality or the deaths of people they loved.
Instead he had tried to make the point gently that family,
friends and neighbours, were the important things in life not the collecting of
things and not the material aspects of human existence.
Plus he thought a
little caustically as his thoughts wavered toward his own family and home, he
wouldn’t mind being at home in front of a fire and looking forward to watching
the cricket match either. Since he had to be present to officiate for a man he
hadn’t even known, one would think the relatives and friends would be behaving
with a little more dignity.
When speaking he had delicately made the point that when the
death of an old rather boring man like Ken could fill a country church, it
meant the life of that town was active and full of love and consideration for
one another and those they knew and they must try to keep that spirit of caring
they shared because it was precious. Modern life was eroding it away.
Religion as such, he
mused, after so many years of seeing its affect for good and evil, didn’t matter
all that much, just so long as people
kept caring for one another while they lived. His Bishop may have disagreed
with his thoughts but the Vicar was wise enough not to voice too many of his
opinions to his ‘boss’. He knew during the past few years he’d spent attending to people with their myriad of needs, problems and traumas as well
as their joys, his faith had begun to fail him. It was too late for him to
change his life now and would go on to retirement and hope perhaps one day his
conviction would return to him. In the meantime he would do no harm to the
beliefs of those who came to him for guidance.
His brief and rather muddled musing was interrupted by the
wind blowing a great gust which tipped his white surplice right over his head
and he stumbled trying to fight his way out of it so he could see where he was
going. The cheeky young driver of the hearse behind him giggled
surreptitiously.
‘Crikey
Moses look at that, it’s a bit like a Scotsman. I’ve always wondered what
priests wore under their robes.’
Rodney, had now
joined them after having a couple of warming swigs of brandy from the flask he
kept in his car.
Aunt
Alice, Rebecca and Julie trudged along behind the men.
Julie was regretting
her choice of shoes as the damp oozed into them. Hiking boots, or gum boots
would have been more appropriate for the situation. Her feet were becoming
wetter and colder the nearer they got to the yawning hole of the grave.
Everything around them smelled of the wet. The shushing pines poured their
distinct perfume into the air. The ground smelt of the wet earth and grasses
and mould from the rotting timbers pervaded the atmosphere. She hadn’t smelt
the sodden countryside for so long she was surprised by the pleasure she felt
as she inhaled the familiar odour once more.
‘You’ve
got the wrong shoes on for this place.’ Aunt Alice pointed out unnecessarily ‘I
knew what it was like, so I wore sensible shoes. It’s always been a miserable
place here. The man who donated it to the town knew it was an awful piece of
land and not any use for much. Everyone accepted it and thanked him to his face
but they all knew he was an old rogue. It didn’t stop him becoming the mayor
though.’
‘Yes
well, it didn’t stop them from accepting it either did it Aunt Alice? I guess
that’s how politics are done sometimes and yes you’re right I do have the wrong
shoes on and,’ Julie struggled to speak in defence of herself against the wind.
‘You always do wear sensible shoes Aunt Alice.’
It must be thirty years since the
old woman wore anything which wasn’t laced up or had a raised heel, she
thought. She shoved her hands up her coat sleeves trying to keep them warm
‘And,’
Rebecca felt the need to support her sister spoke up. ‘It is a cemetery, so
they are always depressing places, particularly in this sort of foul weather….
Damn! Now my brolly has turned inside out!’
‘Look at
that.’
Aunt Alice ignoring
the sisters, pointed her walking stick toward Uncle Rodger as he reached a
solicitous arm out to another woman and indicated a more protected position out
of the wind, in the front of the group standing on the sodden ground beside the
prepared grave.
‘You can
help strangers.’ Alice admonished him angrily as they caught up, ‘but you can’t
help your own wife.’
Michael
hastily put his hand out to guide Aunt Alice to a front row position. She
snatched her arm away crossly. ‘What do you think I am OLD?’ She cast a baleful
eye at the woman Uncle Rodger had helped.
The
Vicar having arrived at the graveside tried to stop the murmuring and talking
as people began to exchange snippets of news. He cleared his throat. His first
tentative words were immediately overridden by Uncle Rodger complaining loudly
in Michael’s ear ‘You see what I have to put up with?’
Rodney guffawed in the silence which followed and small
sniggers were heard from others behind them.
The
stranger feeling rather tired sat on the gravestone beside Uncle Ken’s grave.
It was just the right height to make a seat, although the icy cold of the
granite soon seeped through the many layers of clothing she wore covering her
large bottom which spread across the stone.
Despite her anger,
Aunt Alice not to be outdone by someone else’s initiative sat beside her until
she read the inscription on the headstone. ‘Get up.’ She commanded of the woman, ‘I went to school with this girl and she
wasn’t someone you should sit on!’
Glaring
at Aunt Alice belligerently she opened her mouth to argue but thought better of
it as the Vicar determined to proceed, said very loudly. ‘Shall we proceed?’
Julie
held Rebecca’s hand for support. She was remembering long ago being perplexed
by Aunt Alice announcing she would not be buried at Wellsgate as she, ‘Didn’t
want to be buried with all those old gossips.’ When she passed the remark onto
to Michael he wondered how they would gossip after they were buried.
The
service proceeded as yet another squall raced across the scene and the sleet
prickled their faces. While the mourner’s faces slowly became numb, the
circling birds cawed adding to the haunting atmosphere. Opening their mouths to
speak made sensitive teeth painful. Everyone’s necks disappeared like tortoises
into their scarves and coats as they wished the Vicar would get a hurry up.
Eventually
it came time for the coffin to be lowered. The men braced themselves in
readiness for the strain of holding the wide belting and keeping their footings
on the slippery ground. It would take great effort on their part to remain
anchored in place.
Unexpectedly the Vicar raised his hand as the coffin began
to recede slowly but then seemed to remain still for a while.
He looked up and his tired eyes swept across the group of
faces partly hidden from him by layers of clothing and shadowed by fluttering
umbrellas.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, the workmen have tried valiantly to pump
the water which had collected in the grave out. Unfortunately because the pump
broke and we experienced very wet weather last night it has again raised the
water level and we cannot lower the coffin at present, but Mother Nature has
intervened. I apologize to all the family and friends present but it is
unavoidable and we shall have to lower the coffin a little later.’
People
gasped.
‘It’s
stuck.’ A voice stated.
‘No it’s not,
it’s floating.’ Another corrected.
Michael’s
stood in stunned disbelief. The Antarctic wind whistling around his head and
passing through the fabric of his trousers went unnoticed.
‘Well,
I’ll be buggered.’ Rodney whispered to Michael. ‘He’s right, it is floating! All the rain has filled the hole up
and it won’t go down. Course it has been a wet week. Mind you if they’d got the
pump working they may have emptied it enough.’ He assured his brother-in-law
who was staring at him in dismay.
Rodney seeing the trancelike expression on his face
recognized another chance to make a well placed dig at Michael….. ‘Well I
suppose you in your comfy little heated office haven’t noticed it’s been wet!’
The dig
woke Michael from his daze and he glared at his brother-in-law.
‘You try driving on
the freeway for a couple of hours a day in rush hour with all the lights and
slush from everyone else’s cars and see if you wouldn’t notice it was raining.
Of course I know it’s been raining all week but this….this… it’s ridiculous!’
Rodney
shrugged ‘Crikey Moses, don’t lose your cool, it happens a lot. The ground gets
sodden and the water doesn’t drain away. You can see its clay soil here.
They’ll be able to put him down when the pump is fixed it will just be a bit
later that’s all. Of course’ he continued,’
they’ll have to fill it in quick smart and get the dirt on top or he will come
floating up again!’
Michael
could make no reply to that observation at all. Words failed him.
Aunt
Alice, now wanting to let everyone know what she thought, told the Vicar to.
‘Pull him up again! He was my brother and I want him pulled up again!’
The Vicar knowing he
had completely lost control of everything went across to the old lady to calm
her.
‘Oh
Hell, she’ll be seeing ants again by the time we get to Rebecca and Rodney’s
place if she gets upset.’ Uncle Rodger groaned.
‘Pull
him up again!’ Aunt Alice demanded. ‘He hated swimming, wouldn’t go near a
swimming hole in his life! He was a big ‘sissy’ about water. I’m his sister I
demand you pull him up! He loved the
land and food and….. and……parties.’ She struggled to think of more things.
‘Never
knew when he’d out worn his welcome either.’ Alf, now having been reminded of
his argument with the deceased, called from the back.
‘You be
quiet Alf. We all knew you at parties. Couldn’t keep your hands off us
girls!’ Alice, throwing formality away
altogether, stood as high as she was able and raised her tiny gloved fist in
the air. Old memories of old complaints left unsettled for decades began to
seep into her mind.
‘You
should talk Alice, look who you ended up with and that was after checking out
most of the boys in town too and leaving it so long to decide you were left
with the last bachelor with money that was left in the district.’ Alf getting
his dander up now, waddled closer to Aunt Alice and leered at her showing his
yellow dentures and breathed his cigarette breath on her.
The Vicar silently apologized to the deceased as he
hurriedly said the final words of the burial service and in a show of temper
and displeasure addressed the arguing foes.
‘Ladies
and gentleman PLEEEEEASE!’ Then in a quieter voice repeated. ‘Please make your
way to Rebecca and Rodney’s home for the wake.
We will make sure Ken is lowered in due course as soon as we possibly
can.’
The
gravediggers who had been enjoying the whole debacle had been watching from
near an old gravestone where they had hidden the pump. They now moved forward
and began the grizzly process of emptying the grave once more ready for the
occupant waiting patiently on the board nearby.
Aunt
Alice was so fired up and ready to continue the row with Alf she turned and
quickly moved down the path toward the car. She didn’t glance back once at
Ken’s grave.
Rodney
was thoroughly enjoying himself. ‘That was more entertaining than I expected.
You must be having a great time driving these two backward and forward and all
around the countryside all the time.’
He grinned at Michael, his wide weather worn features
brimming with mischief. ‘You’ll deserve every cent the old girl leaves you.’ He
leant closer breathing brandy fumes under Michael’s nostrils. ‘She sure let go
a few in the church didn’t she? It’s wise to be upwind from her today mate I’m
telling you.’
Michael
nodded and glared at him. ‘Can the day get any worse and why didn’t you share
your brandy? You can take them back in your car if you like. I don’t give a
shit what they leave us.’
‘No way. I’m not having them in my car.’
‘We’ll get them back
to your place and leave as soon as we can. I just want to get home.’
‘Ah, you
can’t do that. You’ll have to hang around for a bit so the girls can have a
chin-wag. They don’t get to see much of each other. That’s the problem with
getting married. You get to marry into the family as well.’
Rodney looked about them as he
waited for Rebecca and was amused to see Michael trying to wipe some of the
heavy clay from his shoes and trousers. The stuff stuck like pale dog droppings
along the soles and heels and embedded itself into the treads. ‘Not like your swanky city cemeteries, is it?
You should get something done about the country ones.’
‘Michael
can’t get anything done about the cemeteries, you big idiot!’ Rebecca
overhearing him defended her brother-in-law.
‘Yeah, I
know.’ Rodney grinned. ‘I just like giving him a hard time. Got to keep these
government plods on their toes. Let them know we’re watching them.’ He swayed
about a little on his feet.
‘You’ve
been at the brandy again!’ Rebecca accused him. ‘I’ll be driving home, give me
the keys.’
Michael
heard Rodney call out some instructions about how to get to their farmhouse but
the wind spat the words away. He knew how to get there anyway.
Ants Aunts and Funerals is available from Amazon books and Kindle.
