Chapter 47: A Good Man

War had left Gordon's stepfather Henry weakened and never really well. He'd always had breathing problems because of the gassing he'd had in the trenches. But Henry believed that he was a lucky man. So many of his comrades had died in 1915.

He lay in the bed upstairs. It was the same one that Eli and Nan had once shared. The bed took up most of the room. It was a brass bed with a flock mattress. Under the bed was a po.

On the wall, above Henry's head was a verse of poetry, in a wooden picture frame:

SING YOU A SONG IN THE
-- GARDEN OF LIFE,
IF ONLY YOU GATHER A THISTLE,
SING YOU A SONG AS YOU
TRAVEL ALONG,
AND IF YOU CAN'T SING
WHY! JUST WHISTLE.

Henry's face was very white. His pale blue eyes seemed sightless. It was as though his gaze had turned inwards. His breathing was shallow. The doctor had called and said he was very ill. His heart was packing in. Henry knew he had something seriously wrong with him. He didn't want to fight it. He just wanted to go to sleep. He felt so weary and tired.

When Gordon went to see him, he'd drifted off to sleep.

"He's always been good to me," Gordon thought, looking down at his step-father. He sat by the bedside and thought what a good old boy he was. Not that old, only fifty-four and quite clapped out! Just like a machine that had been badly treated and never functioned well, always likely to break down.

Henry had been a benevolent presence in the house when Gordon and Frank were growing up. He hadn't been allowed to make big decisions for them or punish them when they were in the wrong. Nan did that. They had never done many things together outside the home. He was more like a friendly lodger than a father but Gordon was very fond of him. Everybody liked old Henry. Somehow, he'd always looked old and that was why everybody referred to him as 'old' Henry.

There was no point in sitting there. Gordon contemplated the invalid's blameless life. He thought how lucky he'd been to have had himas a reliable friend. A few more kind thoughts surfaced in his mind. He wished him well. His deep thinking was a kind of praying without a specific formulation.

He went back downstairs to see his mother. Henry had been a good husband to her but she'd never loved him, not how she'd loved Eli. It was over twenty years since Eli had been killed, but you could still feel his presence in the house -- more than you could Henry's. Maybe it was that photograph that was a constant reminder of who had once been the head of the household. Gordon looked up at it now. His father's eyes looked straight back at him.

Nan was quiet. She waited for Gordon to say something.

"I'll come again after work tomorrow," said Gordon.
"All right, son."
"Is there anything I can do for you?"
"Frank's staying in most evenings to keep me company. I've got good neighbours. They're all very helpful in times like this. They'll be popping in and seeing I'm okay. You'd best be going. I'll see you tomorrow."

He kissed his mother on the cheek and left.

Henry was dead within the week. The funeral service was to be at St. Thomas's, situated on the far corner of Marton Street. The burial would be in the cemetery above the town.
Gordon asked for a day off work. Lesser Authority passed the request on to Higher Authority. Gordon was called into the office. "Now Watson, I understand you want a day off to go to a funeral."

"Yes Mr. Jibes."
"It's very inconvenient. We've a lot on at the moment. That roller you're working on needs finishing by Thursday. Whose funeral is it anyway?"
"It's my step-father's."
"I see. Not a close relative then?"
"We were quite close. He helped bring me up."
"Well Watson, if it was your real father it would be different. But I'm going to have to say, No."

Gordon could hardly believe his ears.

"That's a bit hard, Mr. Jibes. My mother's relying on me to be there to support her."

Higher Authority drew a deep breath and frowned. Should he rebuke the man for telling him he was being hard? Should he concede a little? Watson was a steady worker. Never been any real trouble, despite his union activities.

"I'll tell you what Watson. You can have two hours off, provided you come back here afterwards and make the time up with overtime, not overtime pay of course. How about that?"

Gordon responded quietly, "Right Mr. Jibes. Right."

The boss went back to his paperwork. Gordon left the office. Outside, he gave vent to his pent-up feelings. He hit the wall with his fist and said to himself, "Shit! Shit! Shit!" over and over again. "They call us 'Hands' and that's all we are to them. Just 'Hands', without brains and hearts and feelings!"

His brother, Frank, who worked in a different department, had exactly the same treatment. Before the funeral they compared notes and cursed the bloody firm that didn't know how to treat its employees like human beings.

On the afternoon of the funeral, Frank was outside the main gate of the factory waiting for his brother. They were both in their working clothes. Gordon had left his best suit at his mother's the evening before. On their way through town, they picked up the wreaths they had ordered. There was one for their mother too. Gordon asked Frank, "Do you need any help with the expenses?"

No! Everything was taken care of. The Co-op Insurance would be providing adequate cover. It was strange how everybody managed to save for a funeral. They were reasonably well-off now, but if they'd still been very poor, the insurance would have been kept up to date. A proper funeral was essential. You had to show respect to the dead and more importantly behave respectably. One had to be respectable at all costs!

Between them, Frank and his mother had registered the death and made the other funeral arrangements.

"There'll not be many there and with you two having to go back to work I haven't booked a cafe meal for afterwards," Nan said.

The curtains were drawn across the windows of the house, and it was gloomy inside. The coffin was on a trestle table, taking up most of the downstairs room. Nan was all prepared and in black. Her sons went upstairs to change. They came down. Eli's photograph seemed to watch their every movement.

Gordon was standing by the open door and looking out."The cars are here," he said.
The pall bearers came in and lifted the coffin. They placed it in the funeral car.

There were the three family wreaths, and another from some neighbours who had clubbed together to buy one. All four were placed on top of the coffin. Nan and her sons climbed into the other car. It was only a hundred yards to St. Thomas's.

The local vicar was away. There was a clergyman they'd never seen before waiting for them in the porch. The bell rang from above and it felt like a blow to the heart every time Gordon heard it toll. Frank was crying. Nan was stoical as ever.

There were only ten in the church. They were Nan and the two brothers. Stanfast had allowed one from amongst his work mates to attend. A wartime comrade, too ill to be in employment, had managed to make it on his two sticks. Five female neighbours were there. Margaret had stayed at home to look after the children.

Gordon and Frank had been church-goers when they were children. They were able to sing the familiar hymns, "Abide With Me" and "All Things Bright and Beautiful." Nobody else did, apart from the bloke taking the funeral service. He read the words of the service as quickly as possible. Nobody said anything personal about Henry and the good things he'd done in his life.

The service soon ended. Some there shook hands with the family in the porch. A few words were spoken to Nan. No-one was articulate. The brief words were sincere.

A neighbour said, "He was a good man."
The man on the two sticks croaked, "He was a brave lad."
Another of the neighbours said to Nan, "Keep smiling love."

The coffin was carried out again and placed back in the funeral car. It was time for the journey to the cemetery above the town. It was pouring with rain in the cemetery. They were wet through by the time they reached what was to be Henry's last resting place. Mother and sons huddled together during the committal. The men lowered the coffin into the gaping hole. Dog-collar garbled the necessary words and scurried off. And that was that!

The car took the three of them back to Marton Street. The brothers changed again into their work clothes and hurried back to Williamsons. Gordon said to his brother, "Well Frank, all I can say is, he had a few decent years with mother. It was about the only time in his life that he was properly cared for."

"Yes," agreed Frank. "if ever there was a decent bloke, it was Henry. Never did anybody any harm. Always tried his best. He was a real good sort. Being still at home, I got to know him better than you. He was pure gold."
"Yes," said Gordon, I suppose we've had it dead easy compared with how it was for him and a lot of his generation. Anyway, he's nothing to worry about now."

Back at his bench, Gordon's friend Bill asked, "How did it go, Gordon?"

"Bloody awful!" said Gordon. "Life isn't fair is it? Only fifty-four he was and not much to show for all his hard work and always doing his duty. Look!"

Gordon showed Bill the gold signet ring which he'd put on one of his fingers. "This was his. He wanted me to have it. Frank has his watch and chain. And that's it. That's all he had."  "Well Gordon, people who knew him, they'll all have good memories of him," Bill replied. "Maybe that's all that counts at the end of the day. It's more than you can say for a lot of them who have loads of dosh."

When Gordon was at home, late, because of the enforced overtime, Michael was demanding some answers. He knew there was something being hidden from him and that it concerned Granddad Henry. The children had known that he was ill. Margaret had said nothing about his death. As usual, she was anxious to shield them from reality. Michael was so easily upset and Gwyn was too young to understand what had happened.

Gordon decided it was time to tell Michael, to try and make sense of what had happened to Henry. As he could not comprehend it himself he had a real job on his hands.

"You know that things die, Michael?"

Michael was sat on his Dad's lap and could tell it was something serious. Gordon was holding him tight and speaking earnestly in a quiet voice.

"Yes, Dad. You mean like when Jesse kills a bird?"
"Well yes, but people die too you know."
"Like Celia? And when you killed that mouse?"

It wasn't a good start. He tried again.

"You know what you learned at Sunday School about Jesus dying and going to Heaven?"
"You mean when those nasty men tortured him and hammered nails into him. Then they hung him up on a cross."
"Well yes, but after all those horrible things, he went to sleep and was happy in Heaven."
"It's not what Rob thinks. He says Jesus came back as a ghost and he's everywhere, watching us in case we do bad things."
"Not quite like that. But listen, people you know have to die too."
"I know Dad. Like I said, Celia died didn't she? Why did she?"
"She wanted to go to a happier place."
"Where's that?"
"Up in the sky -- somewhere out of sight."
"Can she see us down here? Do you get dizzy up there?"
"She might be able to see us. But listen, I've something important to tell you."

Michael was silent and listened. Gordon took a deep breath and said, "Your Granddad Henry has died. He's gone away to be happy. Do you understand?"
"Does that mean I won't be seeing him again?"
"Yes."
"But I want to! He takes me for walks and tells me good stories."
"That's how you'll have to remember him. He was always a good Granddad to you."

Michael's lip trembled.

"It's not fair. There's always something bad happening. It's not fair. Why didn't you stop him? You know I wouldn't want him to go away."
"It wasn't up to me son. I didn't want him to go."

Michael thought his Dad could do anything he wished, prevent anything he didn't want happening. He climbed down off his knee and went over to his mother and she picked him up for a cuddle.

Michael stared at Gordon accusingly, "It's not fair," he said again. "You should have stopped him. I didn't want him to go away. I want to see him!"