Friday, May 03, 2013

Not even standing room

Our village church

Our small village church was packed for Christine’s funeral. The pews were full, the aisles were full, and there were people outside who couldn’t squeeze in, listening to the service on the loudspeaker that Frank had fixed up. 300 people whose lives had been touched by Christine. 300 people is almost half the village, but there are many more who were away and couldn’t be there. .

Christine ran our village shop with her brother. It’s like a shop from my childhood, stocking everything from Stilton to starch, party balloons to the New Statesman, toothpaste to Sauvignon Blanc. What they don't stock they will order.

They were delivering shopping years before home delivery was even on Tesco's business plan. But I'd rather go in and have a chat. They have a chair for weary customers – i remember one village lady who used to sit in the shop most weekday mornings, being served coffee when the family were brewing for themselves.

After school on Fridays, the children queue up with their pocket money to buy lurid sweets from plastic boxes stacked on the counter. It doesn't matter how long they dither between liquorice sticks and rainbow drops, they are treated with patience. respect and kindness. Adults have to wait their turn, which is just as it should be.

It is my kind of shop.

Christine’s life was cut short. She is missed. She will always be missed.


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1 comment:

Megan said...