It was early on a cloudy Saturday morning, and the telephone rang.

''Gillis residence. Charlie speaking.'' said Charlie, who was rather hungover, and did not want to answer the telephone. It was Etta Candy.

''I'm- I'm ringing to tell you that Steve's funeral is next week.'' she said. ''I thought I ought to let you and the others know.''

''Oh. Will they be there?''

''Yes. The Chief hasn't gone back to America yet, he said he's going to help me sort out Steve's affairs. And Diana- well, she hasn't gone...home either. I suppose she's staying in London for the moment.''

''Oh.''

''Sameer said he could meet you at the train station? On Saturday morning. He said to tell you seven o'clock?''

''Right.''

''Well, I've got to be at work by seven-thirty.'' said Etta, businesslike as always. ''Funeral's six o'clock Sunday. At Greenwich Cemetery.''

''Aye. Goodbye, then.'' he hung up.

Of course his mother had been listening to Charlie's end of the conversation under the pretense of making tea, and wanted to know what it was about.

''Charlie, love, did you feed the chickens?''

''Yeah, mum.''

''And what was all that?''

''Steve. I was with him in France the week before the armistice. The funeral's in London, Saturday next.''

''You'll be taking the train down there, I suppose?''

''Aye. And I'll be staying there, I think. To find work.''

Of course there had to be a row about this, and it went on for rather longer than it needed to, because Charlie leaving was inevitable and everyone knew it. If he could find a job fixing automobile engines or working at a boiler; he would be able to send money home and be a use to somebody (as well as shamelessly being able to get drunk at nine in the morning).

''I have to find work, and I don't want to mind that stupid old bugger's sheep for the rest of my life.''

''There's the mine.''

''I'd rather hang meself than work in the fucking mine.''

''Charles William Gillis!''

And so on.

Eventually it was settled that he would be back for Christmas but was otherwise to find work in London, and Charlie went off to mind the stupid old bugger's sheep.

The funeral began six o'clock on Sunday at Greenwich Cemetery, as promised. The overcast November sky was already darkening, and everyone stood solemnly in black pretending they hadn't already been to more funerals than they could stand. There were no remains, just dirt in the military grave.

''Brothers and sisters, let us stand and begin.'' began the rather sour-looking priest. Everyone was already standing. ''In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.''

''Amen.'' murmured the crowd halfheartedly.

There were readings from Leviticus and Revelations and John, a eulogy had been put together and some of Steve's compatriots said a few words about what an honorable fellow he was, then the priest said the Our Father and everyone stood quietly for a moment.

Charlie stood near the back, by the others who had been on Steve and Diana's mission, periodically drinking gin and ignoring Etta's disapproving glances.

After what felt like a week but was probably about an hour and a few hymns later, the funeral was over.

It began to drizzle, and slowly the funeral goers slowly dispersed.

Diana was looking gorgeous and commanding as always, and the others stood around her in a knot. She was wearing the mourning clothes Etta had wrestled her into that morning. Chief and Sameer were discussing the going rate for ammunition in an offhand sort of way, neither of them cared much about it.

Charlie stood a yard or so away, smoking and disinterestedly half-listening to Etta, who was telling him off rather about drinking at funerals.

"No, ye can't pour it out." he said "Perfectly good gin that is, it'd be a damn shame-"

"Love, we're at a funeral." Etta interrupted exasperatedly. "Show some respect."

"I was sober at mass." He took a nip out of the flask. "Doubt Steven'd've minded much."

Etta coughed.

''Well, what do you do at funerals?''

Sameer rolled his eyes.

''Charlie. Spare a poor man a cigarette?'' he asked.

''Certainly.'' said Charlie amiably, passing him one and rolling himself a replacement.

Etta sighed and flicked open her umbrella.

It was almost quarter past seven now by Steve's watch- Diana had it carefully tucked in her sleve- and raining in earnest. Diana rubbed grime off the face with her wool coat.

"We should get out of the rain." Chief said, observing the water beading on the brim of his hat and dripping onto his greatcoat.

"What now?" Diana asked.

"We all ought to go home," Etta said, sensibly. "Sameer and I've both got work tomorrow."

''The war's over! We have to do something! What did we even fight for if we can't enjoy peace-time? Steve...Steve would have wanted us to do something.'' Diana exclaimed, her voice breaking as if she were about to cry. She collected herself.

''I think we ought to do something.'' she finished lamely.