"WHEN I SHUFFLE OFF THIS MORTAL COIL"

Sat at my desk in my study I am attracted by movement through the window.

I live across from a church and am able to look down on all that happens in the large car park at the side.

Over a year I am able to watch the full gamut of life, christenings, weddings, funerals and, if I crane my head far enough around the corner of my window, I can see (on Saturdays at 9-30am and 5-00pm by appointment only) The Sinners, creeping surreptitiously through the side door into confession with a quick furtive  backwards-glance.

Today is the weekday early morning service, not very well attended this one, most people have other/better things to do.

"Father", a quietly spoken man (I have passed the time of day with him on a few occasions) can be seen striding purposely across the car park from the gate in the wall which separates his private life from his public one. Dressed in long black flowing robes he can (forgive me father …) on a dull morning look quite menacing, very different to the glitz and bling of special occasions.

One morning soon after he came to live here I spotted a plume of white smoke snaking up from above his garden wall. I rushed to turn on the TV news-channel expecting to see the news that a new Pope had been elected, only to be told later by a parishioner that Father smoked a pipe.

It's Sunday morning 10-29am, the bell is tolling, the car park is full of cars, not a soul (pun intended) to be seen except, and here he comes now, the one who is always late, always running in at the last minute. A sight for sore eyes, hair uncombed, shoe laces undone, tie askew but with a look of grim determination on his face, a look that seems to say "forgive me Father for I have had to feed the cat, water my tomatoes and 12 down in the Sunday Mail crossword totally stumped me".

It is easy to tell the devout ones, they are the ones that “volunteer”. These are the ones that water the flowers, cut the grass, clean the windows, the ones that will surely get “there”.

BREAKING NEWS: Just seen Father rushing across the car park towards the church, jeans, lumberjack check-shirt with sleeves rolled up to just under the elbow.

He has just returned with a piece of paper in his hand (list of hymns, today’s sermon?).We’ll never know.

It’s Sunday morning and from 10am onwards cars arrive in dribs and drabs until the car park is full. People dressed in their Sunday Best stand hovering around the entrance to the church (one last cigarette for a while for some of them) until as if at a command they slowly parade into the church and all is quiet until a car draws up and from within gingerly gets out a woman, possibly in her middle twenties, clutching in her arms a tiny baby (why do we say “tiny baby”, aren’t all babies tiny?) dressed in a long white gown. The driver of the car takes the hand of, and this is only an assumption, his wife/partner and together they walk into the church.

DEAR READER: There will now be an interlude of approximately two hours.

You may feel free to go and put the kettle on, to brew a cup of tea, have a wee or possibly prep the lunch.

DEAR READER: Quick they’ve finished (I have had a cup of tea, been for a wee twice and prepped my bacon sandwich for my lunch).

The crowd mingle (a welcome cigarette for some) around the car park but the centre of attention is a “tiny” baby, like a Queen Bee in a hive. Lots of cooing and cries of “Isn’t she lovely” (I feel a song coming on).

Adjacent to the church is what was once a school, but is now a parish centre, and slowly everyone gravitates towards it, stomachs are rumbling and with one  last cigarette for some they all disappear.

DEAR READER: I feel I must apologise, I have had my bacon sandwich, fed the cat and been to my allotment to water my tomatoes and when I returned the car park was empty. The only sign of a christening being a dozen squashed fag ends in the car park.

“Ah bless, doesn’t she look lovely”?

It’s Saturday 1-55pm the sun is shining, there is no wind, and it’s a perfect day for the wedding. The Bride arrives in an open top 1920’s car bedecked with cream ribbons and flowers. She alights, carefully smoothes down her dress (“what a beautiful dress”), her bridesmaids carefully arrange her train and they all walk slowly into the church, a scene of complete serenity. But if only she knew!

I have, at intervals, been watching the scene unfold, absolute chaos at times.

It’s 9-00am, rain is pouring down and the florist’s van pulls up outside the church door. Head bent against the wind and rain two people jump out of the van open the back doors and make numerous trips into the church laden with armfuls of flowers. Two hours go by and it is now 11am and the florist’s van draws away their work done (we can now send in our invoice).

There now appears one of the “devout ones” armed with brush and shovel and within minutes the place is spick and span

DEAR READER: See above and instead of “tiny” baby insert “bride”. (That’s saved me a lot of writing).

A cold and rainy Saturday morning and am looking down from my study into the church car park when slowly appear car after car, from which alight people dressed in black. Sad looking people, some crying, all hugging and kissing each other. And then “The Hearse”. Everyone’s last trip. The coffin is wheeled out and into the church.

DEAR READER: I don’t think I need to say anything more do I?

Will anybody be looking down on me “…when I shuffle off this mortal coil”.?