Page 38 of Coming Home to Sturcombe Bay
The hearse was full of flowers, with more piled on top. As they drove along the Esplanade, people stopped respectfully to watch them pass. It was only a short distance, round past the Memorial Gardens and up Church Road.
All Saints Church had stood guard over the souls of Sturcombe since the thirteenth century. The Victorians had added a couple of bits to the original building — an imposing porch and the square bell tower, and a rather fine stained-glass window over the altar.
A low stone wall surrounded the graveyard, with a covered wooden lychgate. The hearse drew up at the kerb, the mourners’ cars lining up behind it. Their driver climbed out and came round to open the rear door for them.
They stood for a moment in the sunshine, watching as the undertaker’s assistants unloaded the flowers. Richard and Paul Channing would be helping them carry the coffin, along with Ollie, and Tom Cullen.
In accordance with Nanna’s instructions, they were all brightly dressed. Cassie was wearing a white sundress with scarlet flowers twining up from the hem. Lisa’s dress was a vivid yellow, and their mum was in mint green.
People were still filing into the church. The atmosphere was more like a summer garden party than a solemn funeral. The women had all followed Nanna’s instructions too and were wearing summer dresses, and the men were mostly in colourful shirts and ties, without jackets.
As the congregation moved through the churchyard, Cassie caught a glimpse of Liam. He was wearing a pale-lemon shirt, and a virulently coloured tie patterned with cartoon fish — she strongly suspected that it had been chosen by little Robyn. For some reason that gave her heart a warm squeeze.
Beside her, Lisa laughed softly. “You know, if Nanna’s looking down on us she’s going to be right smug. For the final time, she’s got her own way.”
Cassie nodded. “There’s a Maori word for it —Mana. It means a person has great presence, great power. It sums up Nanna perfectly.”
Lisa smiled, a tear sparkling at the corner of her eye. “It does.”
“Well . . .” Helen Channing let her breath go in a long sigh and linked her arms with her two daughters. “Come on, then. Here we go.”
The three of them walked into the church. The organist was playing quietly — ‘Pachelbel’s Canon’. Cassie was a little surprised to see that all the pews were packed — cousins from both Nanna’s side of the family and Grandpa’s, as well as seemingly the whole village and many who had moved away.
They took their places in the front pew and sat for a moment, quietly listening to the organ music. The bright sunshine was streaming in through the stained-glass windows along the southside of the church, casting jewel-bright patterns across the stone floor.
The distinctive scent of old churches — dust and warm stone and beeswax polish — stirred memories for Cassie of attending Church Parades here when she was nine years old, so proud in her Brownie uniform.
The wreaths from the hearse had been set around the bier before the altar. The organist began to play the opening bars of ‘Abide With Me’, and everyone rose as Eva led the coffin bearers down the aisle.
The service began with a short prayer and a Bible reading, then the hymn that had been sung at Nanna’s wedding so long ago — ‘For Those in Peril on the Sea’.
Then Eva spoke briefly about her own memories of Nanna, stirring a few ripples of laughter. “But I only knew Edie for six years. Most of you will have known her for much longer. If any of you would like to say a few words, please do so now.”
There were a few moments’ hesitation, then Ollie rose to his feet. “I want to thank Nanna Edie for her kindness when I had my first experience of a patient dying on my watch. Well, as you can imagine, it was her own brand of kindness.”
Laughter rippled through the congregation again.
“She sat me down and told me not to be ridiculous. People die all the time, and it mostly won’t be my fault. She was right, of course — a doctor has to toughen up. But that ‘mostly’ also reminded me not to get too big for my boots. So, thank you, Nanna Edie. I hope I’m a better doctor for your wise words.”
A few people started to applaud as he sat down again, then hesitated, wondering if that was quite appropriate. But Cassie’s mum went on applauding loudly, and the vicar joined in, so the applause was taken up throughout the congregation.
Then Brenda, who ran the convenience store just a few yards up the road from the church, stood up. “I’d like to say something, if that’s okay?”
“Of course. Speak up,” Eva encouraged.
“Well . . . when my husband — the rat — went off, leaving me with my Bethany, just eight years old, I was at rock bottom. He’d always undermined me — I had no confidence in myself, no idea how I would cope. Edie helped me fill in all the forms and applications to take over the shop. She didn’t do it for me — she showed me how to do it myself. She told me she wouldn’t help me again. Instead, she gave me the belief that I really could do it myself.”
There were nods and murmurs of approval. Then there was someone else with a story of Nanna giving them a small sum of money in an emergency and telling them she didn’t want it back, that when they were in a position to do so, to pass on the favour.
One after another, people were standing up to tell similar stories about Nanna’s no-nonsense encouragement, small acts of generosity, practical support in a crisis.
Cassie glanced at her sister, wide-eyed. “I never knew any of this,” she whispered. “Did you?”
Lisa shook her head. “Not much of it.”
“The Maoris have a custom like this. They call itTangi. Everyone comes to the funeral and tells stories about the person who’s died. They don’t even have to be good stories.”
“That’s really nice,” Lisa murmured. “Makes it a bit more interesting than a lot of English funerals.”
