The Aerodrome: A Love Story (6 page)

CHAPTER VI

The Funeral

To BE THINKING of the pleasures of love while dressing for a funeral may seem an incongruous thing; but I remember clearly that on the morning of the day when the Rector was buried I had been dreaming of lying with Bess in the hay, and when I got out of bed I was still thinking of her. I went to the window of my room and looked out over the lawn towards the chestnut tree. The young green now sprouting from the buds was in shadow, but a long splinter of sunlight went past the black trunk over the grass where chaffinches and blackbirds were picking their way among the heavy dew. From the laurustinus bush at the edge of the lawn a wren let go his startling effusion of song. I could see the tiny body shaking with his music. Farther off there were thrushes, blackbirds, and robins in the trees. Out of sight, past the corner of the house, I could hear the crunch of Joe's wheelbarrow on the gravel as he went towards the kitchen garden. From the road came the rattle of milk carts leaving or returning to the Manor farm. I was innocent enough then to think how sweet it would be to wake like this day after day with Bess at my side in the eager country air. Then I thought of the funeral and of my black clothes. It was with a feeling of relief that I remembered that today we were finally to put out of sight the too solid reminder of death; and, whether as a result of an unconscious shame for this feeling of relief or whether in some way the disappearance of the decaying body could liberate some more generous feelings, I began to think with my old affection of the dead man. I remembered his innumerable small acts of kindness and saw vividly in my mind's eye the expression of severe strain which he would have on his face while delivering a sermon to his congregation. I realized how he, who had lied, deceived, and murdered, must in the end have come to shrink from the honour in which he was held and the reputation for sanctity which he had won. I thought, too, of the Squire, of my recent interview with him and of his sense of guilt. Was no one confident, I wondered, except the young; and how long would that confidence remain? For myself I was confident enough, even though the mere imagination of Bess would throw me into a state of trepidation, even though I had seen already the weakness of the two men whom I had most respected, even though the Rector's speech on my twenty-first birthday had deprived me of both my parents. At this time I still felt that for me at least life must inevitably be good. I was whistling as I went down the stairs to breakfast, and checked myself outside the door of the dining-room, remembering what day it was. But the Rector's wife also seemed unusually cheerful, and we talked more at this meal than we had done since her husband's death. She asked me questions about the clothes which she would wear at the funeral, and told me to make sure that we had whisky in the house, in case the Air Vice-Marshal should care to stay the night. She even began to discuss the future and to make suggestions about how I should now get the right kind of coaching for my Civil Service examination. Indeed, she seemed wholly to have recovered from the depression and nervousness of the last few days, and I should perhaps have begun to ask her the questions which ever since the dinner party I had been wishing to ask, if we had not, before the end of the meal, been interrupted by the Squire's sister. She came into the room unannounced and, I thought, in a state of some agitation. Her first questions were about the visit of the Air Vice-Marshal, and I was surprised that she who, in my experience of her, so far from showing any eagerness in social life had tended rather to avoid company should now be anxious about a person who was not even, except for his connection with the aerodrome, of any consequence in our neighbourhood. She asked us all, including the Air Vice-Marshal, to have lunch with her at the Manor after the funeral, and then, as though surprised at herself for not having spoken of this first, told us that her brother had been taken ill in the night, and for a day or two would be confined to his room. "It is nothing serious," she said. "And in a way I am glad. You know how fond he was of the dear Rector. The funeral, I am afraid, would have been very upsetting for him." "I quite understand," said the Rector's wife, and the two ladies looked gravely at each other, and then smiled. It would have been to do them a great injustice to have supposed that now, when the preparations for the funeral had all been made and the ceremony itself was at hand, they were becoming indifferent to the dead man himself. I, too, had felt relief that morning when I realized that now at last the body was to be lowered into the ground. Yet what were, no doubt, the same feelings in others made me indignant. I thought with pity and a kind of anguish of the coffin lying beneath hot-house flowers in the centre of the cold aisle, and of how soon its contents would be forgotten or only remembered as a character out of a book. So I felt all through the day, and it was this feeling which made the Air Vice-Marshal's speech at the funeral particularly distasteful to me. He had arrived only ten minutes before the service was due to begin, and until he arrived not only the Rector's wife and the Squire's sister but all the other relatives and friends who had gathered at our house seemed unable to conceal their impatience. They talked in low respectful voices, and those who had not met for many years showed on this occasion unusual affection towards each other. But after the normal courtesies had been exchanged they would one and all begin to speak of the Vice-Marshal's visit, interested, but as a rule not caring either to approve or disapprove of it. And as the time drew on towards eleven o'clock people would rise, as though aimlessly, from their chairs and look out through the window towards the road. At length the visiting clergyman, who was to conduct the ceremony, and who had been wandering nervously round the room with his eye never straying far from the window, remarked in a low but clear voice: "I believe that the representative of the Air Force is arriving." The considerable gathering of those who were assumed to be my aunts, uncles, and cousins rose all together from their chairs and in indecent haste struggled towards positions at the window. I remained standing by the fireplace and listened to their comments on the size and colour of the distinguished visitor's car. The Rector's wife, too, stood aloof, and I noticed that her face was pale, though whether this was due to the tense atmosphere which is nearly always generated by a gathering of relatives, or to embarrassment at the thought of entertaining the important officer, I did not know. We heard the sound of the car's door being shut and the tinkling of the bell. A moment or two later the Air Vice-Marshal was shown into the room, a mark for the eyes of all the family and friends who had faced about from the window and now stood silent gazing at the man who paused at the threshold as though uncertain whether to enter the room or not. It seemed almost as though they were awaiting his orders or else that he had discovered them in some crime; for he looked boldly, almost insolently, along the row of mild inquisitive faces, until the Rector's wife stepped forward and advanced to meet him, holding out her hand. There was, I had to confess, something remarkably impressive about the man. He was not unusually tall, but had such an upright carriage that one fancied him to be taller than he was. Though he must have been, I supposed, at least as old as the Rector, his face was not deeply lined and it expressed both energy and resolution. The eyes below his high forehead were large, though now he narrowed them slightly in an expression of distaste as he looked round the room. I disliked the complete assurance of his look, but at the same time felt attracted to the apparent power and confidence of the man. He took one step forward to meet the Rector's wife, disregarded her outstretched hand, and saluted with a brisk and sudden gesture. His lips were tightly pressed together. All his movements seemed to be made unwillingly, and yet with perfect dignity and precision. "It is very good of you," the Rector's wife began, "at this time..." He did not allow her to finish her sentence. "Not at all," he said. "I am only doing my duty. The accident was unfortunate." There was a pause. The Air Vice-Marshal had no more to say, and the Rector's wife seemed to have forgotten the form of greeting which she had intended to use when he had interrupted her. Her eyes were straying round the room and finally became fixed on me. She beckoned me towards her and said: "This is my son, Roy. I am sure he would like to join me in thanking you for coming." Actually I had no such wish and was indeed distressed at the disturbance and trepidation caused by this courtesy visit of an official. But I stepped forward and smiled as I was being presented. The Air Vice-Marshal looked at me sharply and I stared back at him, not, perhaps, too respectfully, for I thought continually of the dead body in the church and felt this ceremony to be unreal in comparison with it. Nor did I imagine, then, that I should ever see the Air Vice-Marshal again. He turned quickly from me, without shaking hands, and said to the Rector's wife: "What is the boy going to do?" I saw her eyes waver as she looked at him, and in order to spare her the effort of answering his question I replied that I was shortly to sit for the Civil Service examination. The Air Vice-Marshal paid no attention to me at all while I was speaking, so that I wondered whether he had heard what I said; but when I had finished he turned his head to me abruptly and said: "Why not the Air Force? Better pay, better conditions, more discipline." I was in doubt what to reply, for I did not wish to insult him by confessing my dislike for the organization in which he occupied so prominent a place, and at his mention of discipline I was inclined to smile, remembering the many outrageous and irresponsible acts that had been committed in our neighbourhood by the aerodrome staff. But, before I had time to answer at all, he smiled at me and shook my hand. I was surprised by both gestures. "Write to me when you like," he said, "care of the Air Ministry." Then he turned quickly to the Rector's wife. "Where is the clergyman?" he asked. "We must be getting a move on." The relatives and friends, who had listened intently to every word spoken, now made a way through their ranks for the visiting clergyman, who bustled forward, rubbing his hands together in front of him and smiling in a way that seemed to me indecent on such an occasion. The Air Vice-Marshal took no notice of the hand offered to him but turned on his heel, taking the clergyman by the elbow. "We had better go straight to the church," he said, and proceeded to march the perplexed gentleman out of the room. But before they left the Rector's wife took two or three quick steps forward and, to attract his attention, touched the Vice-Marshal on the arm. It seemed to me, as I watched, that his whole body stiffened as though affected by an insult or the sting of some insect or snake. Yet he behaved with perfect correctness, stopping still, slightly inclining his head and looking with his large inquiring eyes at the lady who had touched him. The Rector's wife, however, must have received the same impression as I had done. She fell back a pace and spoke nervously. She was inviting him to lunch and indicating to him the Squire's sister who was responsible for the invitation. The Squire's sister stepped forward, and she, too, appeared to me unusually nervous. Her large eyes were staring as though she were walking in her sleep, and her thin peaked features were as though the skin had been drawn back over them by some force behind her head. It was a face almost indecently naked, and the smile upon it seemed out of place. The Vice-Marshal bowed to her and said: "I shall be delighted." Then he turned round and escorted the clergyman towards the church. As soon as he had left the room an excited buzz of conversation arose. Nothing very remarkable was said. Most of the ladies pronounced the Air Vice-Marshal handsome, distinguished, or impressive. One old gentleman, an uncle of the Rector's wife, said: "I don't like his manners." What surprised me was not so much the impression which the man had made, as the extraordinary and callous curiosity of these friends of the family who had become so interested in a stranger whom they would never see again that they seemed wholly to have forgotten the purpose for which they were assembled. The bell in the church tower was now tolling, and people began to look hurriedly about them for gloves, handbags, and prayer-books. Inquisitive faces took on suddenly a look of conventional solemnity, and the whole scene began to appear to me as infinitely pathetic; for I kept always in my mind's eye the picture of the coffin beneath the flowers, and the man inside the coffin with all his lust and pride and his repentance quite extinguished. I could even think now without pain of the unsightliness of the corpse and of its inevitable decay. The disappearance of life itself had made a gulf too deep for any affection to reach the end of it. I took the arm of the Rector's wife as we went through the churchyard to the church door. In the porch stood George Birkett, the chief bellringer, dressed in his dark suit, and with sticking plaster covering the wounds on his face. He bowed gravely to us and opened the door that separated the porch from the nave. I saw Bess standing behind him, frowning as she pulled on her black gloves. She looked up at me and smiled, and I, since I was close to her, touched her hand with my fingers. I should have liked her to have sympathized with me in some of the distress which I now felt; but she looked puzzled when I touched her and, leaning forward, whispered in my ear: "I've broken one of the buttons on my gloves." She smiled again, as she might smile across the counter of the bar, and I smiled back at her, feeling for some reason tears in my eyes. Then we went into the church, which was fuller than I had ever seen it; for in addition to the villagers there was a contingent of perhaps some twenty men from the aerodrome sitting in the back pews. As I went past them I noticed that while they were all silent and most of them were staring in front of them with cool impassive faces, one or two were reading newspapers. Among these I noticed the Flight-Lieutenant, who turned his head and winked at me. I paid no attention to him and indeed hardly took in the details of the disrespect which the Air Force was showing now, as always, to what we in the village held sacred. In front of the pews occupied by the contingent from the