Dr Patrick James Turner
11/7/1908 – 6/1/1992
Late of Stepney, East London, he passed away peacefully at home, surrounded by his family after a long illness. Devoted husband to Shelagh, father to Timothy and Angela, father-in-law to Lucy and Stephen, and grandfather to Robert, Jessica, Christopher, Madeline and Georgina. Funeral service to be held at All Saints Parish Church, Poplar on 15th January at 10 am, followed by burial at All Saints Churchyard. Family Flowers only.
"It must be him," Jules thought with an air of great sadness.
It was only by chance that she found out. London, her home for so long, was now somewhere she only braved when work compelled her to do so. Sat alone on the train home from Paddington that cold, rainy night, she had flicked all the way through to the death notices at the back of a local paper discarded by a fellow passenger who alighted at Reading. It was there she learnt the news, inevitable news, but saddening news, nonetheless.
Jules had kept in touch with the Turners for some time after her job in the Docklands was over, but as with many long distance relationships, the threads which bound them grew ever thinner. Now, living in the West Country, married with two young girls and a steady desk job with English Heritage, Jules' life had changed unrecognisably since her days with the Turners. Gone were the days of carefree adventure, of travelling the world, not knowing where she may end up, an adventure now consisted of taking two under fives to the north coast of France. As the lights of towns flashed past the rain whipped carriage she wondered what to do. Nagging thoughts about timings, logistics and what to do with the girls were soon removed from the forefront of her mind. She would go.
The undertakers had done their work for the day, Reverend Hereward had said the required prayers, and the entire congregation had left the church. All, that is, except five smaller figures that remained. Walking silently up the aisle, older brothers holding little sisters' hands, five faces stood staring at the oak coffin in front of the altar.
"Is Granddad in there?" four year old Georgina asked her brother.
"Yes," Christopher replied, putting on a brave face and pushing his wavy red hair out of his eyes, not wanting to be seen crying by his sister and cousins.
"He's just waiting in there," nine year old Madeline reassured, "he's waiting until we take him to see Jesus."
"Will he come back?" Georgina asked.
"No Georgie," Jessica sighed mournfully, "which is why we have to say goodbye properly now."
"Will he be listening?" Georgina continued.
"I think so," Robert replied, his eyes flickering between the coffin and the beamed ceiling, "Granddad was always very good at listening, he was always so quiet, and thoughtful."
"Yes he was," Madeline said, "though sometimes, I thought Granddad was sad."
"Sad?" Jessica asked her sister.
"He would just sit in the corner most of the time," Madeline continued, "he didn't talk to anyone and he didn't play games with us."
"I think he was just tired and poorly," Christopher suggested, "that's what I heard Grandma tell Mummy once."
"Were you sad Granddad?" Georgina whispered against the side of the coffin, pressing her ear against it, hoping for a response. When the inevitable silence ensued, she continued, "I don't want you to be sad, Granddad."
"I remember Granddad playing games," Robert mused, "but that was a long time ago. And he wrote me a letter when I started school, though the writing was so squiggly that Dad had to read it to me."
"I think I got a letter when I started school too," Jessica said, "but it was written by Grandma. Grandma's writing is lovely, was Granddad's really messy? I don't think I know what it looks like. Grandma always writes our birthday cards."
"Dad says that Granddad passed on his messy writing to me," Robert said.
"And your messy hair!" Jessica added, pointing at her brother's futile attempts to gel the back of his hair down.
They all had a giggle at Robert's expense, but, suddenly remembering where they were, dropped the joviality and a silence descended.
"I was thinking earlier," Christopher began after a moment, "of all the things I never asked Granddad."
"Like what?" Madeline asked.
"Like, what's your favourite food? And what's your favourite story, and, well lots of things, but now I can't ask him, because he's not here anymore." Tears began to leak from Christopher's green eyes, running down his freckled cheeks.
"There, there," Robert said, patting his younger cousin fondly, "it's ok."
Voices and footsteps coming from outside the back of the church startled the children. They looked at each other and then at their grandfather's coffin.
"We better say goodbye," Jessica suggested, "have you got it?" she continued, turning to Georgina.
"Yes Jessie," she replied and from her pocket produced a small plastic model of a man with dark hair, wearing a white coat and a stethoscope around his neck. With a small lift from her brother, Georgina placed it atop the coffin amongst the flowers and said, "Bye bye Granddad."
"Miss you," Robert said, tucking the model a little further underneath a bouquet of white spray carnations, before tracing the edge of the coffin with his fingertips.
"I'll never forget you," Jessica sniffed, "goodbye."
"Goodbye, I wish we could have played together more," snivelled Madeline.
"Bye Granddad," Christopher said, "I hope you are happy now."
The five children, none of whom could contain their tears any longer, stood in revered silence for a moment, before walking, hand in hand, back down the aisle. As they slipped out the door of the church, their arrival did not go unnoticed.
"Where have you all been?" Timothy said, "we were wondering where you were."
"We were just talking to Granddad," Robert reassured, wiping tears from his face as he did so.
Timothy could not question his son's statement.
A cold and bright day greeted the family and their friends as they made their pilgrimage to All Saints Church the following morning. Jules sat at the back of the church, greatly moved by Reverend Herewood's poignant and sentimental praise of a great friend. As the gentle tones of the final hymn whispered around the church, Jules watched with tears in her eyes as the family who she had known for such a short time, but loved so dearly, filed out behind their father. The grandchildren inconsolable, Timothy, Lucy, Angela and a tall blonde gentleman who Jules assumed was Angela's husband, in various states of composure. And leading them all, strong and stoic to the end, was Shelagh. She had not yet shed a tear, but her blue eyes betrayed every pain she was suffering.
The gathered assembly watched with reverence as the four undertakers lowered the coffin into the ground. Reverend Hereward recited the prayers, and one by one, the congregation dispersed, offering their condolences to the family. Jules nervously wandered towards Shelagh, and murmured,
"I'm very sorry for your loss."
"Thank you my dear," Shelagh replied before turning her attention to the next person to offer her their condolences.
Many years had passed, many changes had occurred, Jules knew that, but there was not a glimmer of recognition in Shelagh's eyes. But Jules felt no sense of disappointment; somehow it seemed right that it should be the case.
"Goodbye," Jules whispered to no-one in particular as she stood at the gate of the churchyard, looking back down the path she had just walked, "goodbye. To you all."