St Wilfrid's

I went to a funeral, today. It wasn't anyone I was close to, just a chap that I'd met at meetings up at the school before he retired when he was, horribly, struck by Parkinsons. He was a lovely, gentle man, always friendly and with a quick, dry wit. I've seen him a few times over the years since then, most recently at the school Christmas concert, and I've always gone over to say hello. His death was unexpected, though, and when the school told me about it, I decided to go along and pay my respects.

The service was at St Wilfrid's in Halton-on-Lune, an odd looking church whose tower is five hundred years old, apparently. Inside it was chilly and I was glad I'd wrapped up as I made my way down the pews looking for a friendly face, which I found in the form of the previous chair of governors. We sat as the organist, a woman in her seventies, I guess, played appropriately sombre music. For one piece she was joined by a beautiful soaring, soprano voice and, after a bewildered look around the church, I was stunned to see it was her, singing as she played.

When they came, the hymns and prayers passed quickly enough, punctuated by a heartrending tribute from the deceased's son, and I left feeling saddened, as you might expect. I drove a little way home and stopped just at this bridge over the Lune, and spent a little time looking down river. After a short while I felt my mood lift and I took an interest in the bridge and the path that I was standing on, which I think are part of the old railway line: I think I'd like to run along it.