Mike stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom of Dai and Margaret's house. He'd not slept well the night before and it showed. If he was totally honest with himself he hadn't slept well in months. He hoped that once his friend was laid peacefully to rest that he himself would be granted some much needed sleep. His face was pale, a dusty grey colour, and he had dark circles around his eyes. His normally bright irises had faded to dull and were constantly red around the edges. Mike splashed some icy water on his face in an attempt to wash away the tears from last night's bad dreams. The tear stains on Mike's cheek disappeared down the drain with the water but he still looked dreadful. Mike didn't know how long he was staring into the small bathroom mirror but it must have been longer than he thought as he was snapped back to earth by a gentle knock on the door. He heard Margaret call his name through the wooden door. She sounded concerned and he felt a pang of guilt for worrying her. He called back that he was fine and would be down in a minute. The Englishman checked his watched and cursed as he realised he was late. His morning self-pity would have to wait until the next day. He quickly brushed his hair and straightened his tie and glasses. Mike thought he looked ridiculous without his signature beanie hat and stuffed into the too big suit. He was not meant for formal wear. He sighed to himself and went to meet his friends downstairs.
As Mike reached the bottom of the stairs, he was handed a flask of tea and a biscuit from Dai's ever-caring wife. He didn't feel hungry at all but he dutifully nibbled at the sugary treat before they all hurried out the house to join the rest of their friends at the town hall. Everyone looked sombre in the black formal outfits as they trudged up the Welsh hill towards the castle. Steph had even made an effort to cover her brightly covered hair. She wore a smart black hat over the orange locks which looked unusually tamed today. Jonathan and Gethin were the only two members of LGSM that looked comfortable in their suits. Mike guessed that this was not the first funeral that the two men had been to recently, probably not even the second. That meant they had spent a little more money on their attire, probably aided by the fact they'd had more years to save up for a nicer suit. The former gay libber's were holding hands tightly as they made their way up the muddy path; carefully avoiding the puddles. Zoe and Stella walked near the front of the travelling party. Their long onyx dresses floated in the wind; they were a picture of grace and beauty. Mike thought that they looked like angels of death as they led the party onwards towards the castle.
Jeff was closely following the young baker and the two blonds were helping each other navigate the dirt path. Mike noticed on several occasions Jeff's hand lingered a little too long of Joe's arm after he'd hopped over a puddle. Mike couldn't help the wave of jealousy that flooded over him as he watched the two younger men interact. They'd grown closer since Mark's death as they had been there to comfort each other. It wasn't fair; Mike had never had the chance to have that with Mark. He tried to shake that thought from his head. He knew that the jealousy was making his thoughts irrational and the two boys probably hadn't even realised they were displaying so many gestures of affection.
Mike looked over at the Welshmen who had decided to join them. Many of the men and women had not liked Mark when LGSM had first arrived. He didn't even recognise some of the faces in the crowd. They had watched Mark with distaste as he had tried to light-heartedly introduce LGSM. They had voted against accepting any more money from the group in favour of going back to work in the mines purely because they didn't want to be supported by gays. Yet they were here today, walking up the hill to pay their respects to the great man that was Mark Ashton. His death had united them. However, Mike couldn't help but feel a little pessimistic about the true reason behind their presence today. He suspected that the majority of the miners, especially those who had barely spoken to Mark, were attending so they appeared to seem thankful for all the hard work Mark had done for their community. It was probably a way of dampening their guilt for their actions. He doubted that anyone of them actually cared for the Irishman. Mike tried to push away his bitterness. This service was supposed to be for those who had loved Mark Ashton; not a tool for dispersing guilt. He glared accusingly at the nearest unknown face in the crowd. The older man shrunk back slightly and turned to talk to a nearby friend. Mike felt a hand on his shoulder and he spun round to find Jonathan looking down at him. Jonathan told him to ignore the fakers and remember the solidarity that Mark had stood for. It wasn't much but it was a slight comfort to Mike. Mark would probably have made some crazy joke about the people who had hated him in life; something about finally converting them. Mike chuckled quietly to himself. He tried to ignore the questioning looks from Steph and Gail who were closest to him. Jonathan just smiled and fell back once more to be with Gethin.
Mike glanced briefly at the small Welshman. Gethin looked almost as exhausted as he did. He was gripping Jonathan's hand tightly and, even though Jonathan was clearly in good health, Gethin's eyes were full of worry and his face looked gaunt. The long days had affected Gethin badly. Jonathan had snuck in to see Mark whenever Gethin was asleep. He knew that his lover would panic too much if he had known that he was visiting Mark. Mike hated to see how Mark's illness had hurt the older couple. It had almost torn them apart at the seams but they had made it through the rough times and had both come out the other side alive; which is more than could be said about Mark.
A sharp pain shot through Mike's chest. He gripped onto Steph's arm to prevent him from falling as his legs gave way and the flask of tea dropped from his hand. He wasn't ready to say goodbye. He faintly heard his voice saying that repeatedly as the world began to spin. Mark wasn't dead. He couldn't be. Mark was the most alive and vibrant person he knew. A crowd of black began to circle him as he was lowered slowly onto the path. He thought he heard Jonathan's voice saying his name, or was it Jeff's voice? It didn't matter to Mike. It wasn't Mark's voice that was calling him. Suddenly Mike felt his breathing become short as he struggled to gasp for oxygen. He grasped at his tie and tried to yank it off but he only managed to tighten the knot. The voices around him faded to a quiet hum as his vision blurred. Finally his throat was free from the constricting fabric and he sucked in a huge gulp of air. Mike heard a sob and it took him a moment to realise he was crying. He looked down at his mud-covered hands; they were shaking. Margaret had managed to retrieve the tea flask and poured out a small cup. He smiled and took the tea carefully; trying not to spill the scolding liquid. From her bag Margaret produced a packet of chocolate biscuits and she insisted that he ate one; something about the sugar would do him good. Mike mumbled an apology to the group as he ate the biscuit. His friends waited patiently for him to feel ok again. Soon enough his legs began to regain their strength and with the help of Ray and Reggie he was able to continue up the path to the castle. He heard some of the older Welshmen complaining about his episode but Cliff quickly shot them down; telling them to return to the village if they didn't want to be there. To his surprise nobody left.
It wasn't a real funeral. Mark's family had held a small one back in Ireland for him. Mark's parents had blissfully ignored their son's sexuality and all the work he had done whilst he lived in London. So Mike had decided to organise a sort of funeral in Dulais for all Mark's friends to say goodbye. They were going to light candles around the Welsh castle and everyone who wanted to say something about Mark would have a chance. Slowly the group made their way around the castle, placing tea-lights on the cold grey stone. Every time Mike lit a candle he said a small prayer for Mark. He wasn't a religious man but for some reason, on that day, he wanted to believe in heaven. There was total silence until the last candle was lit and the castle glowed brightly against the Welsh countryside. Some of the older miner's only lit one candle each and then waited as they watched the others work. Cliff was the one to break the eerie silence.
'And death shall have no dominion.
Dead man naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.
And death shall have no dominion.
Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily;
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through;
Split all ends up they shan't crack;
And death shall have no dominion.
And death shall have no dominion.
No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;
Though they be mad and dead as nails,
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,
And death shall have no dominion.'*
Cliff's old course voice wavered only once as he recited the words of Dylan Thomas. Mike found himself sitting down on the thick green grass as he had done the night before. He let his fingers weave through the blades and he felt the dirt behind his nails as Cliff's soothing tone filled the air. There was not a dry eye in the castle when the poem reached its end. Cliff quietly said goodbye to Mark and sat down with the others on the stone wall. One by one the members of LGSM said their goodbyes to the Irishman. Jeff left a rainbow scarf by the castle that he had knitted along with a daffodil. Joe left a box of choux pastry and a photograph of LGSM after their first visit to Dulais then went to join Jeff. The two blonds huddled together on the grass and Mike noticed their hands were entwined. Steph laid down an old Bananarama vinyl and a small box of earrings. Jonathan and Gethin said a few words about the importance of awareness about Mark's illness and they praised him for his work for gay rights. Jonathan had drawn a picture of Mark smiling and Gethin had written a small paragraph in Welsh below. Dai later told Mike that the Welsh had said how much Mark would be missed by all. Dai and the committee hung up the Dulais Valley flag in an archway of the castle; carefully minding the flames. It waved gently in the wind and Mike felt a tear roll down his cheek as he gazed at the two hands shaking firmly. When it was his turn to speak Mike talked about the progress of his garden back in London. He spoke about the meaning of the different flowers he had planted. The daffodil was a symbol of chivalry; something Mark had shown an abundance of. The yellow tulip was a sign of hopeless love. Mike's cheeks turned pink as he admitted that. He'd never told Mark the truth about that flower. He said that the yellow tulip meant loyalty. He placed photographs of each flower in the growing pile of tributes and gifts. He had brought two real flowers with him from the garden; a forget-me-not and a white lily. Mark would be remembered.
Eventually the sun began to fade behind the mountain. Angharad, the woman who had originally started the anthem in the town hall so long ago, began to sing once more. Her voice rang out over the mountains. This time LGSM joined in with the choir of Welsh voices and they sang until tears streamed down their faces. The soft harmony filled the air and the small candles burnt brightly around the castle on the hill. It was truly a gorgeous sight and a fitting goodbye for a beautiful soul. Mark's soul was now among the stars that were beginning shine above them in the dark sky. Cold and emotionally exhausted the mourners made their way back down to the village.
That night Mike slept peacefully in the small bed in Wales. His dreams were happy memories of the man he would always love deep down in his heart.
* Poem is 'And Death Shall Have No Dominion' - Dylan Thomas