Yesterday we went to a funeral at the village church.
We arrived half an hour before it was due to start and there were only three empty seats. Dave had to stand, and he counted 90 other people also standing. I was moved to see how many people were there to celebrate the life of a man who was much-loved in the village, a farmer two years older than me.
We arrived half an hour before it was due to start and there were only three empty seats. Dave had to stand, and he counted 90 other people also standing. I was moved to see how many people were there to celebrate the life of a man who was much-loved in the village, a farmer two years older than me.
Roger was friendly, good-hearted, intelligent, fun, warm, sound, and so much more. He was born and
bred in the village and wrote a regular farming column in the village newspaper.
We sang Plough the fields and scatter the good seed, Morning has broken
and a local man sang a solo of A Farmer's Boy. The Bible reading was from Corinthians about the supremacy of love and someone read a poem called God made a Farmer.
We walked back up the lane under a cloudy sky feeling melancholy. Dave was ahead of me because I was looking for photographs.
They weren't worth having because the light wasn't right.
But in the late afternoon the sun came out and I went back onto the lane.
They weren't worth having because the light wasn't right.
But in the late afternoon the sun came out and I went back onto the lane.
It was a sobering afternoon, and has left me feeling that I don't want to waste a moment.
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