Sorry. I couldn't be bothered to finish it all before posting so I'm doing the same thing as Idumea (mainly because I'm practically bouncing in my seat about it!).
This has a lot of outdated vocabulary that haven't been used in schools for 30-odd years and because I like being accurate it's going in, so I'll put a basic guide in the A/N at the end of this chapter just in case any of you don't have any clue what I'm talking about.
I watched too much Grange Hill for this.
10th September 1966
It's Emma's birthday today, though it doesn't feel like it.
I don't think it was taken into consideration when they decided on a date for the funeral.
The church is as cold as our hearts, blasting the two of us with freezing air as soon as we enter the elegant stone building. The stained glass makes beautiful colourful patterns on the floor as the sun shines through the translucent material. Emma grips my hand so tight it cuts off the blood flow to my fingers, hanging on for dear life. I don't dare prise them off.
She's crying. Rivers of salty tears stream down her cheeks and I watch them hit the grey stone floor as we step between the pews. In front of us, the church is bland and colourless, ridged in shades of grey, black and white. Even the colours of the prayer mats are muted, darker than they should be. Emma doesn't make a sound, though she's crying. Her mouth is clamped shut like it 'as been for the past 13 days. I flash her a weak smile and meet her dark brown eyes. Her face doesn't move, just stares at me with her huge doe-eyes.
None of us should be here. She's only 8, she shouldn't be at a funeral at this age. I heard one of my aunts mention it this morning. I shouldn't be either. I'm only 14. But here we are, doing something we shouldn't 'ave 'ad to do for many decades. Our black shoes echo around the space with each step we take, our breathing the only sounds beside it. The coffin sits right in the middle of the front, able to be seen from all sides with white lilies and black roses arranged on top. It's completely empty, 'is body won't come to the surface of for many weeks and we couldn't delay the funeral any further. My eyes are drawn the colours of the flowers arranged on the muted wood. White and Black. Life and Death.
Mary shuffles up the hard wooden pew when we reach her, serious. An expression of joy 'asn't passed her face since she picked up the call, her features stony when I know she must be masking 'er own grief. Her hands are folded in her lap, deathly pale in contrast to the jet black of her skirt. I lead Emma to next to her before I take my own seat and shift uncomfortably due to the hardness of the wood. Both myself and Mary's hands take one of Emma's in a feeble attempt to offer some comfort.
How has it only been 13 days since we got the fatal phone call? Only a fortnight ago it was a Saturday afternoon with the rain slamming against the filthy window and everyone bored stiff from staying indoors and playing board games. The next morning Mum, tired of her annoying us with 'er questions, made him take Emma with him when he went out on that walk with his mates by the lake. The call came in just before 3 that afternoon.
Lakes Can Be Lethal. One of my books told me that. I wish someone 'ad told 'im and 'is friends that before they went walking beside it. Or they'd been taught to swim, even the basics. Something to get him out the water before it was too late.
But he was walking too close to the edge. The earth slipped from beneath 'is feet and 'e fell into the murky water, higher than normal due to the rain. One of 'is friends, Harry, said that it was like time slowed down before they heard the splash of 'is body hitting the freezing water. None of 'em knew what to do, they were only 11. One ran to the nearest phone box and rang 999 but by that point 'e'd gone under. There was nothing they could do.
He was too young. He was supposed to live a long and full life, achieve 'is dreams, start a family. In front of the three of us 'is black and white photo stares at us with 'is goofy grin, a photo taken only a couple of days before he died. Beneath that is 'is full name and two dates that will haunt our family for the rest of our lives.
Christopher Daniel Skelton
5th October 1954 – 28th August 1966
It's not fair.
Basic Guide to 70s School Lingo (I'll add American equivalents in case any of you are reading from there) :
(Present day primary school lingo):
Infant School - Lower Primary School, Years Reception-2 in Modern Day. Equivalent to 4K - 1 in America.
Junior School - Upper Primary School, Years 3-6 in Modern Day. Equivalent to grades 2-5 in America.
1st/2nd year Infants - Year 1 & Year 2 in Modern Day. Kindergarten & 1st Grade in America.
1st/2nd/3rd/4th year Juniors - Years 3-6 in Modern Day. Grades 2-5 in America.
(Present day secondary school lingo)
Comp/Comprehensive School - Oldish name for a state school, used especially after Grammar/Secondary Moderns were abolished in the 60s. Not really used anymore, though older generations may still use it.
Form *Insert code eg. 3B* - Now known as "Tutor". Homeroom in America.
Form Master - Confusingly called "Tutor" again. The teacher who takes registration in the mornings and/or afternoons.
1st/2nd/3rd/4th/5th year - Years 7-11. Grades 6-10 in America. (Year 10 & Year 11 are equivalent to Freshman and Sophomore in high school)
Sixth form (Lower 6th & Upper 6th) - In the present day still collectively called 6th form, though split off into Year 12/13. Junior & Senior years of high school in america.
*This will be updated when needed!*