The Funeral
Disclaimer: Graham Linehan and Arthur Matthews own Father Ted. I, however, do not…which is probably for the best…
Father Ted Crilly's breath caught in his throat as soon as it dawned on him fully what Mrs Doyle had just said. In his mind, alarm sirens were blaring out loudly, danger close at hand. She must have been lying, or he must have heard it wrong. Surely Mrs Doyle couldn't have possibly thought it was a good idea? He could barely imagine the carnage that Dougal could have committed already.
"DOUGAL'S DOING A FUNERAL? YOU LET DOUGAL DO A FUNERAL?"
To clarify everything, we must backtrack to the events earlier that day…
With Father Ted out and Father Jack sound asleep after his morning binge of a few shots and pints of whiskey, vodka and cider, the youngest priest of Craggy Parochial House found himself alone with Mrs Doyle. Not that he was bored, mind you. After all, even with Ted not being around, Dougal was quite happy out to watch the TV with a lovely cup of Mrs Doyle's tea, thank you very much. Nothing was quite as nice as watching the fascinating, if slightly terrifying world of those Rugrats. Dougal giggled nervously those babies started talking and getting up to mad shenanigans. Terribly good entertainment from RTÉ these days, it had to be said.
In the background of the sitting room, the house's telephone began to ring. Ignoring it for the sake of the TV, Dougal heard Mrs Doyle clamber down from upstairs, after cleaning out Jack's room. A futile task, it must be said, but it was one she did nevertheless on a regular basis. She picked up the phone receiver.
"Ah, hello? Craggy Island Parochial house, Mrs Doyle speaking…Josie? Are you alright? Wait slow down, he's not where?"
Meanwhile, Dougal continued to watch the TV without any interest as to what was happening in the reality around him. Captivated by the events in what he liked to call 'TV land'- those babies really did live exciting lives, probably because they lived in America- he didn't hear the increasingly concerned tone of Mrs Doyle.
"Is it today? Oh, I'm so sorry, but Father Crilly is out. Where? Well I don't know. Hmm…"
Her eyes wandered from the window to over the telly screen. Father McGuire was watching that strange programme again. Well, at least he was drinking some tea. You always knew something was wrong with someone when they didn't appreciate a decent cup of tea. But it appeared as if tea wouldn't be able to fix this problem of Mr Desmond's funeral with no priest on hand. If Father Ted wasn't at the church, then some very outspoken parishioners would not be happy, not one little bit. Not to mention the Desmond family themselves. As devout- and not to mention wealthy- church goers, they wouldn't take the absence of a priest at a family member's funeral very well at all. Not when their donations accounted for a large chunk of the parish's finance.
She sighed again. Mrs Doyle was aware that she had two choices. The first was to find Father Ted, but who could say where he was? Considering they needed a priest- a Catholic one preferably- within the next half hour, or as soon as possible, there was no guarantee that they'd find Father Crilly, have him kitted out with the funeral gear and make it to the church on time. So the alternative was to get another priest. Mrs Doyle drummed her fingers on the side board. Unfortunately for her, the island's sole Protestant priest, Reverend FitzGerald, was away. While he did say he was going on a mission abroad to help the needy, one of his neighbours did mention that he saw the reverend with the sort of holiday clothes more suitable for Lanzarote or South France rather than Kolkata or deepest Africa. At that point, a thought occurred to her.
Placing the phone back on the table, she sighed. Sure, there were disadvantages to this plan, and there was a chance of disaster. But he was all the parish had. She spoke up.
"Em… Father? Do you mind doing me a favour?"
Deeply invested in the events of the TV, he considered ignoring Mrs Doyle. But Dougal wasn't one to be too rude now, Mrs McGuire didn't raise unmannered children. At least, that's what she used to say before the accident. So he turned around over to her with a curious look on his face. A vaguely blank look that didn't show any annoyance at being interrupted during precious TV time.
"What it is Mrs Doyle? Do I need to get more tea bags from the shop? "
She hesitated. Come to think of it, she was beginning to feel a little uncertain about it. But then again, someone had to do the funeral. God knows they couldn't expect Father Jack to do any kind of ceremony. They were still recovering from his infamous Easter Mass from three years ago.
"No Father. Now, I know you haven't done one on your own before. So I can understand if you'd be a bit hesitant about it. But do you think you could you do the funeral for Mr Desmond? Father Crilly was supposed to be there, but no one can find him and I can't go gallivanting around the island looking for him. So, do you think you could do it on your own?"
Judging by the blank, slightly confused face on him, Mrs Doyle mentally groaned. It was a good idea while it lasted. But in fairness, expecting Dougal to do it on his own was probably too much for the poor lad anyway-
"Ah, alright. I'll do it."
Mrs Doyle beamed at the young man's words. The parish was saved! Or at least, it could continue to have the begrudging respect of a few regular parishioners.
"Wonderful! I'll get your things and you can head straight down to the church! Oh, remember to bless everybody, Father!"
Before Father McGuire could object or change his mind, she marched out of the living room to get his proper robes out. Meanwhile, Dougal turned off the telly and rubbed his hands in anticipation. Although he would have to miss this episode, the young priest didn't want to pass up on this opportunity. Ted never let him even conduct mass on his own, never mind a funeral. Dougal may seemed like a content, mild mannered priest from up North but he did have that small rebellious streak that showed up every so often. Nothing like saying a funeral for the parish to rebel against the system. As for what system, Dougal wasn't sure what system he was up against or why. But as his mate, Father Damo, had informed him that only big eejits followed the system and the man. And Father Dougal McGuire was not an eejit.
So far so good. At least, that's what Dougal thought.
He had arrived at the island's church a little later than he had hoped for. It wasn't so much that the walk to the church that delayed him but Dougal did happen to find his handy bottle of holy water outside Father Jack's bedroom of all places. It was that big clear bottle with the red label with the funny smell of it, right? Dougal decided to go with the flow and take it with him. After all, sometimes they ran out of holy water at the church and sure you couldn't have a funeral without holy water.
And after that, once he got there, the young priest decided to bless the funeral hearse. 'Sure, why not?' was his logic. That logic also decided that the deceased needed a bit of a blessing just to ensure it got to the graveyard? And what better way to bless the hearse, but to pour some holy water in with the petrol? He left the remainder of the water with the hearse driver for safekeeping. As far as Dougal knew, the fella was a sound guy. Just out of rehab apparently.
Dougal hurried inside the church once he was finished with that task. One man glancing outside from the main entrance, Mr Desmond's son, Peadár, looked irritated. At the sight of Dougal, he seemed somewhat relieved, although the annoyance didn't lessen from his face. A couple of people decked out in black stood at the side entrance of the church, looking up in surprise as he passed.
"Is that Father McGuire over there?" asked Brian O'Shea, a local farmer, staring in Dougal's direction, "I didn't think he did funerals now."
"Well there you go." Replied his companion, Martin Whelan after taking a long inhale from his cigarette, "There's a first time for everything."
"I suppose so. Do you want to get inside? It's freezing out here."
"What's the hurry? It's only a funeral, sure they're always boring."
Dougal thought he was doing great. Twenty minutes in and everything was going smoothly. Well, there were a few bumps, of course.
"Em, right ok. Let me think there for a second. Right. Ashes to ashes, fun to funky. We know Major Tom's a junkie."
The congregation looked on in horror. It was dawning on them that Father McGuire had no clue what he was doing. It really should have been obvious to them earlier when Dougal starting reading from the wrong section of the Bible and mumbled the Our Father pray, as if he was struggling to recall it.
"Struck out in Heaven's high… Err…Hitting an all-time low. Amen."
The young priest looked up with a big grin on his face. So far so good.
"Don't the Prods say that?" whispered one parishioner to the other, as she raised a sceptical eyebrow, "The Ashes to Ashes prayer? I thought he was one of the Catholic priest?"
Her neighbour shook his head. "Ah no, that's by your man…um…Elton John?"
"Doesn't sound like a prayer. Definitely wrong for a funeral, either way."
"Oh God yeah. Daniel always liked Thin Lizzy, so why not say 'Whiskey in the Jar. Not whatever that is."
"Hmm…not the most appropriate. Don't you remember Daniel's…you know."
She made a discreet motion with her hand, mimicking enthusiastic glugging.
"Ah yes." Replied her companion with a sad shake of the head, "He was awfully fond of the old Jameson's …"
Back up at the altar, Dougal was cheerfully continuing the funeral. With a big smile on his face, he recited the stuff he knew Ted would usually say at funerals. Unfortunately for Dougal, he didn't register Peadár's glowering scowl in his direction.
By the end of the funeral, everybody was left a little more confused than when they had entered. Still a very sad occasion, of course. They all filled out of the island's church as they brought the coffin out and placed it into the hearse.
"I really don't see why they need a hearse. Sure, the graveyard's only over the road!"
"Well, you remember Daniel Desmond as well as I do, Sheila." Said Sheila's companion with a drawn out sigh. "If there was one thing he enjoyed, it was showing off."
Sheila shook her head and was about to tut about how unnecessary it all was. However, passing her was Peadár Desmond, the eldest son and he wasn't looking too pleased.
"Father McGuire, what the hell were you doing in there?"
"Ah, hello Mr Desmond. Lovely day, isn't it?"
The man bristled and took a sharp intake of breath. "I have to say that excuse for a funeral was extremely disrespectful to my late father-."
"Come on, Mr Desmond. I thought it went pretty well myself-." Interrupted Dougal, rubbing his hands all the while.
Peadár cut him off. "No, Father. You were late, you said the wrong scriptures, and you smiled away while you were up at the altar. You're still doing it now!" He cried, "It's a fecking funeral, not a sunny day out at the bloody seaside!"
Dougal held up his hands. "In my defense, I think you're overreacting. But can we wait until after the burial? You're making a scene."
The man glared at Dougal. "Fine. But don't expect me to have softened."
Peadár walked off in a huff. Dougal watched him join some other mourners gather behind the hearse.
"Can't please some people." He muttered. The young priest headed off down to the graveyard
If you think you know where this is all heading towards, chances are that you're not wrong.
The result of Dougal's misadventure can be summed up as follows….
Dougal strolled into the adjacent graveyard, followed by the grieving family and the hearse. Unfortunately, the hearse driver had decided to drink the last of the 'holy water'. Later, Dougal would discover from Father Jack's massive tantrum later on that the 'holy water' was actually a bottle of vodka that he had been saving. The poor driver hadn't been out of rehab long and, despite trying with all his willpower, eventually drank every drop of the stuff while waiting for the funeral to end. Everyone realised something was up when they noticed the hearse slowly driving wildly on the way in. The penny dropped for them when the vehicle rolled into the graveyard gates and started to speed up. Straight into a large headstone. As the hearse burst into flames, the attendees fled for their lives.
Needless to say, Dougal would never be allowed to conduct a funeral in Craggy Island ever again.
A/N
Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed my first stab at Father Ted Fanfiction. Since I love this show, I thought I'd add to the small amount of FT fanfiction that's on this site.
If you happen to spot an irregularity- whether it be canon, grammar or other- let me know. I just wanted to elaborate on Dougal's disastrous funeral in the 'Christmassy Ted' episode of Father Ted. He's my favourite character, and I wanted to see if I could write something sort of humorous. Whether I managed to do so...well I suppose only you can tell me that (if you want to review)