Today we went to the memorial service for our next-door neighbour, Julian. He died just over two weeks after his and Annie’s golden wedding anniversary. They had a fine day for it, and daughter Rowena asked me to take a photograph, qv juxt.
The service was pretty well attended, including the local MP (as well he should, given that Julian was the leader of the Tories on the local council and a former mayor). We couldn’t have been much further apart politically, as he knew when I told him that the Labour Party, of which I was then a member, was scraping the bottom of the barrel to find someone to stand - hopelessly - against him in the local elections: I declined the invitation, despite the attraction of megaphone battles across the fence. He was unfailingly friendly and polite, and the best of neighbours. The only hymn I knew at the service was Great is Thy Faithfulness: the only other time I’d heard it, oddly enough, was at the funeral of another next-door neighbour, Vi Newton.
The service was followed by a reception at the Town Hall. Given (a) the surge in infections hereabouts and (b) the very few mask wearers in the church, we opted out, and came home for sandwiches for lunch. We’ve promised Annie and Rowena lunch here when their building work begins early next month, so can socialise properly then.
No comments:
Post a Comment