Loved Beyond Measure
Synopsis: After the death of his father, a young man gives us insights into his father’s life as the burial service takes place
The day we bury my father, it’s raining. In fact, it’s been raining for several days and we’re not looking forward to hearing his coffin splash into the already flooded grave. No doubt the police, who are also in attendance, will be very happy to hear that, and know that the man who has been a thorn in their sides for years, is at last being put away for good. With no parole. Taking a special interest in proceedings is Sergeant Bill McGovern.
Old Bill had a special relationship with my dad. Sometimes he would come round for a yarn and occasionally they’d have a beer together, but mostly he would be giving Dad the third degree. On those occasions, the dialogue would usually begin with, “Can you tell me your whereabouts last Friday night?” to which Dad would reply, “Mate, I can’t remember what I had for breakfast…….. Oh yes, I do.” One day he would describe the eggs which had fallen right into his hands as he’d passed the copper’s place the night before and another he would describe, with relish, the trout he’d poached from a neighbour’s stream. It was all a game to Dad. Just seeing how much he could get away with. He was always making us laugh.
But there is Sergeant Bill McGovern looking very smart, if rather damp, in his police uniform. Rather damp, ‘cos as I said, it’s pouring with rain and it’s quite hard holding an umbrella when you’ve got your arm in a cast. I guess the Sarge is holding Dad responsible for that too, and in a way he was, though not as you might think.
I know Dad would never have assaulted him. He was quite definite about that. “There’s helping yourself when things fall into your lap,’ he’d say. That’s only being sensible. As the good book says, ‘God helps those who help themselves.’ And then there’s theft. And who hasn’t stolen apples off a tree or flowers from a garden. They’re not missed and no one’s ever hurt. After that comes burglary.” Dad would really be winding himself up by then. It was like he thought he was lecturing to a class of kids who had all enrolled in Crime 101. “To commit burglary,” he’d go on, “you actually have to go into a business or dwelling with intent to commit a crime. But supposing you go round to see your grandma and she’s gone out and left a cake cooling on the window sill, and you can’t help yourself. First you cut yourself one slice. Quite a big one. And then it tastes so good you have to have another. And then you think, “Blimey, I might as well have the whole thing”. Well that’s not burglary, because you didn’t go in there with intent. You see, you have to have the intent. That’s the thing that has to be proved.”
His lecture is interrupted when my Uncle Fred starts sneezing and straight away I’m remembering his story from last night. All cultures have their special ways of dealing with death. Our custom is called Passing the Stick. What happens is, the night before the burial takes place, the close friends and relations all sit around the body lying in the coffin. Everybody tells stories about the deceased but you have to wait until you have the stick. When the stick passes to you, it’s your chance to tell any stories about the dead person and often they’re pretty funny. So last night, there we were sitting around Dad, decked out in his too small suit which he hadn’t worn for years, and his brother, Fred, got the stick. Well Uncle Fred is pretty righteous, so you can imagine how surprised we were when he started telling us a story about how he and Dad had ‘borrowed’ a car, a bright red Cortina, to take these two girls they fancied to a dance. The girls were very impressed with their beaux until the car ran out of petrol on the way there. They had to walk the rest of the way. The girls then refused to dance with them and went off home with someone else.
I notice Old Bill shifting his weight from one foot to another, probably hoping the minister will hurry up, and next thing I’m remembering the time he came round to investigate a robbery. A jeweller’s shop had been broken into and the terrified shop assistant had been threatened by the balaclava-wearing assailant. Dad was horrified. “You should know me better than that, Bill. Theft and burglary is one thing, but robbery includes physical damage.” It’s only now that I become conscious that the diamond ring on Mum’s hand is cutting into mine as she clings on to me for support. It suddenly seems odd to me that although they had half a dozen kids, Mum and Dad never actually got married, let alone engaged.
The rain is thankfully easing off a little, and that’s when I notice Mrs Jennings limping towards the group clustered around the grave. It’s unusual to see her without kids hanging on to her skirts but I know why she has come. She had a hard time of it with a husband who was drunk half the time and often out of work, and when Dad had a successful day out in the country, he always made sure she got a leg of lamb or some chops to put on the table. Old Bill came round to ask Dad about that too. The farmer had laid a complaint. He’d had three old ewes penned up ready for the butcher, but, when he arrived, there were only two. He pointed the finger at Dad, as his car had been seen parked down the road. “Look around,” said Dad expansively, waving his hand.”Look in the fridge. Can you smell anything cooking in the oven? I’m not your man. Anyway, what’s he on about? He’s got thousands of sheep.” This time Bill left empty handed. Dad, drawing on his cigarette, said it was just as well he’d hung the old ewe in Mrs Jenning’s washhouse this time.
Yep, Dad thought of himself as a modern day Robin Hood and I wanted nothing more than to be like him. I hear some sniffling behind me and turn around to see Kelly, solo mother of three. I’m reminded of the time she was sobbing in our kitchen because she needed new tyres to get a safety sticker for her old Toyota Corolla. She didn’t have the cash and she was reliant on the vehicle to get to work. “Leave it with me,” Dad said magnanimously. “Just bring your car around here tomorrow night.” I was surprised to find a newish Toyota Corolla in the driveway when I got home, but not as surprised as Kelly when Dad whipped the wheels off the old car and replaced them with ones which would easily pass the test. Dad thought the $75 rental fee was well worth it and he thanked the rental company very much when he returned the car.
Dad’s cousin, Ed, now hunched over in a too large raincoat, shared another funny car story when he had the stick last night. He told about the time they’d been drinking and having a good time in town before driving home. When a cop car overtook them and flagged them down, Ed jumped into the back seat, Dad slid over into his place and by the time the cop had come up to the window, a large teddy bear was sitting in the driver’s seat. That was the first time Dad and Old Bill met and when Dad pointed to the bear and said, “He’s the driver,” Bill threw back his head laughing. I often wondered if he was sorry he’d let Dad get away with it that time.
The stories had gone on all night. A mate related how one time he was so stressed out he needed a holiday. Dad took him up to the lakes. There were some beautiful holiday homes there which were mostly closed up in winter. Dad had gained entry to one of them and they spent a week there, polishing off the owner’s booze, and raiding the pantry. Just to show how grateful they were, Dad insisted on leaving a Thank You note and advising them to be more careful about where they left the keys. He was big on having good manners. But it wasn’t all funny stories. My sister Susie was crying when she told us how she felt, as a six year old, when Dad went to prison for the first time. I remember holding her that night, sharing her pain.We missed him so much but almost hated him for being caught. We’d thought he was invincible. How many times had he warned us, ‘Make sure you don’t get caught’?
I’m surprised to see the Mayor in the crowd, but then Dad had a number on him too. This came to light when Mum had the stick in her hand last night. They had been going through a sticky patch. Dad had been laid off and there was a lot of unemployment. However, playing with the kids had given him an idea. He borrowed a fake policeman’s helmet out of our toy box, put on dark clothing and, that night, took a trip to the local lovers’ lane. He tapped on a couple of steamed-up windows, giving frightened teenagers a stern talking to. Then he struck gold. A local councillor was in a state of undress and the woman with him was not his wife. Dad was able to extract a little hush money from him, enough to tide them over until he got his next job. By then, his wife had left him, so the money would have dried up anyway. But now the young councillor is the Mayor and he’s probably eager to see Dad laid to rest. Permanently.
My attention comes back to the minister whose voice is rising.
O God, by whose mercy the faithful departed find rest, bless this grave, and send your holy angel to watch over it.
I can’t help wondering who will be the holy angel watching over us, now that Dad has gone. It’s ironic that he died from blood poisoning after breaking a window and cutting himself. This time he wasn’t ‘doing a job’ but helping a neighbour who had locked herself out. The funny thing was, someone saw him climbing through and rang the police. Of course it was Old Bill who answered the call. He went racing round to the given address to make an arrest but skidded on the wet road and crashed into a power pole. The car was pretty munted but he walked out of it alright. Just a broken arm.
The minister is wrapping it up now. As we bury here the body of our brother, deliver his soul from every bond of sin, that he may rejoice in you with your saints for ever.
I glance down at my leg bracelet and wonder who will deliver my soul from sin. With Mum, I shuffle forwards to throw some dirt on the coffin which is now floating in muddy water. Susie is giving out flowers and old Bill has come over to stand beside me. I know he’s the one who ensured my temporary release to be here today. He’s not long from retirement. He’s earned it. As cops go, he’s alright.
The tears come as the minister’s final words hit me.
Go forth from this world knowing that you are loved beyond measure; that you will be missed more than words can say; that you will be remembered and cherished, and that love will never end.
What happened was... 