PART 2
I had to remember that this was a parish church, not a private chapel, as the pews filled with people I not only didn’t remember but actually didn’t know. Simon was in full vicar-mode, in cassock and collar, and his fiancée had managed to snag a corner of the choir stalls so as to be as near to him as possible.

Despite the presence of a number of young folk in the classic white choir-kit, the stalls seemed filled with Welsh. I had Sar to one side of me, Mum and Alice beyond her, Jim to the other, and of course Ali glued to his right side. Simon had found a spot in the vestry where Pie could snore for a bit, before we let him back in for the proper festivities.

“Dearly beloved…well, it’s traditional, but, as I look around the old place, it is more true than ever. Over the last few years there has been a sea change in the life of this church. We have found friends from the far West, and friends from next door, and while I must admit that some are more conventionally religious than others, I do believe they share, they bring to us, a sense of spirituality that sings the love of Christ in this world. So, let us begin as we hope to continue, with that singing. As usual…”

He turned to the stalls. “As usual, we do have rather a fine bottom in the stalls, but we also have rather a good selection of soprano voices. So, Gloria in Excelsis it shall be”

Sar nudged me. “He talking about Merry's bottom, there?” she whispered. I missed most of the first verse trying to keep a straight face.

Now, I am a rocker. It’s sort of traditional for bikers, and me and the wife are sticklers for tradition. My first memories of her can be summed up as ‘strut’, for that is what she always seems to do when dancing. However much her history may have shaped her, she has always been a rock chick, and her idea of a dance involves heels, short skirt and a lot of leg and bum. Many a time I have been more than happy to watch her do her thing, face glowing and hair flying, and it always amazes me when I find myself watching her lovely behind and think: that’s mine. How the hell did I manage that? I know we are both getting on, our fiftieth birthdays well behind us, but she is just so beautiful it hurts. Anyway, enough of the lustful thoughts, it was a church, and what I felt was awe. The music was certainly no rock anthem, no dirty riff-driven grind and shout, but there was so much power there I found myself shutting up so as not to spoil it. Annie’s family, of course, the pure voices of the women soaring in the chorus, while the bass and baritone of the men gave such depth to it. Our own family, too, and it was still that word that warmed my heart. They had made such a point of accepting me, and particularly Jim, I wanted to cry sometimes. All I had ever been left with, apart from him, was my mother. Jim was no blood kin to them, and Sar and I could never give them another, but they had opened their arms and taken us in without any suggestion that the world could work any other way.

Jim had changed so much, from his days of withdrawal at school after the death of his mother. I watched him as he sang, and pride was bubbling away. My boy, my son, he was becoming a man of whom I could be proud indeed. Sar’s doing, but Arwel, almost as much, the hard, hard man showing Jim how tender he could be without ever being any less masculine.

Sar nudged me as the song ended. “You OK, cariad? You just stopped singing there”

I lifted a hand to kiss. “More than OK, love. Just, in church and that, thought I’d count my blessings”

“And?”

“More than enough, love, more than enough, and they are standing all round us”

Merry read the lesson.

“From the Gospel of Mark, Chapter 12, verses 41 to 44”

It was the parable of the widow’s mite, and after a breathtaking delivery of the next hymn, “Oh God Our Help in Ages Past”, which gave me shivers with the men’s harmonies, Simon stepped up to the front again.

“I won’t be giving the sermon this evening, as I have a friend along for that purpose. Well, not just for that; he’s here as a friend first and foremost, because this is indeed the season for friends, for family. Father Patrick Malahyde”

Patrick took the pulpit position. “Not strictly ‘Father’ any more, for the Lord showed me a slightly different path, and when the Boss offers you a present it is usually bad manners to refuse. My gift is sitting…four rows back, on the left.

“Now, it is Christmas. Season of goodwill, giving, over indulgence and repeats on the telly, which is why so many of you have decided to come along this evening and enjoy the free gig that our visitors to the choir stalls are providing. Live music, indeed, and the thing about live music, whether playing it or enjoying somebody else doing it, is that it rather helps if you are actually alive. Now, that sounds a bit obvious, but there are different sorts of death. Those of you who are regulars here know that we come together to celebrate the short life of a friend, and remember her untimely death. That is one sort of death, the death of the body. Of course, Our Lord has promised us that there is more, but you all know that, even the Frenchman over there. No? Steph will explain it later.

“There is death of the spirit, and death to humanity. No, no weapons of mass destruction, just a severance of the soul from those around you. There are people who have lost all hope, and they are for us to save, with the help of God. Melanie, who rests in peace in this churchyard, was not one of those. I never met her, but my friends tell me of her joy, of her hope, as life opened before her.

“I have friends here, though, whose spirit nearly rolled over and succumbed , as life and circumstances piled up such a weight of sorrow that they could see no exit. That they are here is a testament of the power of love, so that is part of my message to you today. Look around you; look for those who need, and give of yourself. Not just at Christmas, but through the year. What you have is yourself, and that is what you can give. Like the widow, you are worthy in His eyes, and it is not something done for the eyes of men. You may save a life, one day.

“I have a friend, and he is not a Christian, but he says it so well: be excellent to one another. Let those around you know not only that there is loving-kindness, love, but that it is there for them and all they need to do is reach out and take it.

“Death to humanity…that is the hardest one to explain. I will not dwell on how our friend came to leave this world, but there was a profound lack of connection to common humanity involved. We have young people here today who have lived through such a death, and they were in peril of that death of the spirit I spoke of, but I am thinking of their abusers.

“Is anyone ever lost to God, lost to humanity? It is so easy to believe that, so tempting, but it is wrong to do so. God values all of His creation, all of his people. Here is the lesson: if you write off somebody, you do no better than they have done. Hate them? Well, yes, that is natural. See them as somehow bereft of humanity, hopeless of redemption? That is death to humanity, or the start of it, and where do you draw the line?

“So, my brothers and sisters, on this day of giving, look around you, think on those whom you find it difficult to accept. As He said, love thy neighbour, whoever and whatever they are. And go in peace”

He stepped down, and Simon announced the next hymn, “Joy to the World” before doing the bread and wine bit, which surprised me. I had assumed it was just a carol service, but it seemed to fit. Sharing…we didn’t go up, but there was quite a queue.

Simon finally called for the last hymn, and I knew it was going to be a biggy from the way he grinned.

“I have my in-laws to be in the choir, along with my fiancée, so what else could we do but finish with one of theirs? This is a good old-fashioned bellowing hymn, so even though it would cost a bit, can we see if we can shake the dust out of the roof? Guide Me Oh Thou Great Jehovah…”

Wow. Sod spoiling it with my voice, just…wow. If anything could ever have got me that old-time religion, it would have been that hymn, sung by my friends and family. It was a tune that lived inside them, with a chorus made for harmony singing, both bass and soprano, and Hywel’s clear tenor soaring with the best. Shit, people paid good money for worse performances. I realised Sar was snuffling, and looked across to see Mum dabbing away tears from Alice. Jim just sang his heart out with the rest of the congregation.

Wow.

Simon sent us on our way, and people started to head over to the Hall, where the supper was being set out. Nothing special, just bowls of stew and mince pies, but it was enough, and the atmosphere walked over from the church with the people. I found Janet and Pat stuffing their faces, and had to remark to him about the feelings the music raised in me.

“Ah, Tony, mate, I always have had hope for you. You are an honest man, always knew that. Fuck, you looked after my best mate without a second---no, you had a second thought, then you looked at it, told it to piss off, and got on with being who you are. Honesty. Janet, love?”

She passed him a couple of pound coins, which he dropped into a plastic bag.

“Saves him trying to remember for the swear box”

Pat grinned. “I get to give money to the needy while having a bit of a relax, Tony. Works for me! Sort of ‘Widow’s shite’, yeah?”

I groaned. “Pat, even for you that was atrocious”

“Ah, there’s worse. Got any of that Seven-up?”

I had, and he poured a dram into a clean tea cup. “Music tonight?”

I nodded. “Believe so. Annie and Steph are a bit addicted to it”

On cue, there was a sort of strangled cat noise, and Steph’s niece’s bloke, whatever his name was, started playing some assembly of tubes, which was actually rather pleasant. Simple, gentle stuff; elevator music for the discerning. Others were setting up chairs and music stands, and unpacking a variety of instruments.

“Scuse, Pat, I want to have a quick word”

I made my way over to the band-to-be, which seemed to need a lot of help from a very pink girl to get set up, and gave Steph a hug and Annie a kiss on the cheek.

“Steph, haven’t seemed to find any chances to catch up today. Been making the rounds and there’s just so many I have to say hello to. Annie, your family, in that last one…bloody hell!”

She grinned. “Was yours there as well, aye? Always a favourite with the chapel lot, that one, brings them back for more”

“Your cousin, there, she getting him all welshified?”

“Simon? Dunno about that, but I bet his diet has changed. Likes to bake, does my cuz. Half of this here is probably her doing, aye?”

“What are you doing tonight?”

“Ah, nothing too late. Bit of a jam, stretch the fingers. Tomorrow, might get a bit looser. Hang on, Tone. DEN! Over here!”

I left her to coo and prattle over a small child and carried on with catching up with Steph.

“What was that Pat said about you explaining it to the French?”

“Ah, we have a couple of visitors. Opposite number, sort of, from Ouistreham, and his sister. She’s, well, a bit…shit, she’s another one of us, if you see what I mean, and he was good to me, so we sort of asked them over to show them what we have. She speaks English, he doesn’t, not really”

“What do we have, Steph?”

She cocked her head to one side, thinking. “More than we ever expected, Tony. That was on the money tonight, that sermon of your mate’s. I’ve had some shit, you know that, Sarah too, and for fuck’s sake Annie’s been through the mill, but when we turn round…Pat said family, he said friends. My first day really out as myself and I walk into my bloody husband-to-be, and Annie’s was there already, they just didn’t know it. You, you were there too, aye? For Sarah, for Alice? I think that’s why we get on so well, all of us, we’re all alive to humanity, like Pat said”

I laughed. “Are the two of us miserable bloody atheists REALLY standing discussing a sermon by a priest? What is the world coming to?”

She smiled. “Whatever it is, I can’t imagine a better one just now”

I looked around, trying to spot her frogs, and he was obvious: big nose, comedy moustache, and that was clearly his sister behind him, and her genetics were clearly the same as his and she did not look good, poor girl. They were also peering around, and I caught his eye just as he spotted Steph and came over. They launched into some Foreign, and I was left with the sister, I held out my hand.

“Tony Hall, a friend of Steph’s”

Her voice was deep, accented and very French. “Sophie Laplace, and ma bruzzer Roland”

Too tall, too broad in the shoulders, she must have had a hard time. I wondered what the French attitudes were like.

“I am like Stephanie there, you know, so I know I look…you understand, eh?”

Annie was looking round me at that point. “Annie Johnson, Sophie, and I too am like Steph, and there are three others here at least, so you are welcome. Do you like music?”

I had to laugh. “Straight to the important bit as Annie sees it, yeah? Sophie, this lot don’t ‘like’ music, they live on it; food and drink, right?”

Annie grinned. “Food, aye, but I still need the odd pint. Sophie, be welcome indeed. We will be playing a bit tonight, but tomorrow is the big day. There will be music, there will be dancing, and there will be food”

I looked down at her. “Don’t forget beer, Annie”

She looked across. “Den, do I ever forget beer?”

“Only when you’re on the wine, pet”

Sophie looked round at the crowd slurping their way through stew and cakes. “They know about you?”

Annie laughed. “Two of us got married here, Sophie. We help out with a support group, for kids who don’t know or are having problems. Yes, they know. Can’t help it myself, I was sort of all over the papers”

“[Something Foreign]?”

“In the newspapers. There was a big trial and I was dressing as a man at the start of things but being myself at the end. Big news around here”

“And there is no hatred?”

That one question said so much, and I saw that her brother had guessed where the conversation was going, because he slipped an arm around her shoulders and said something in French to Steph. She nodded to him.

“Roland says that Sophie has had a few problems with bigotry over there. A few beatings, a lot of abuse. This is the first time in months he has been able to get her to come out of the house for more than a run to the shops”

I thought of my wife, of that little fucker Joe, his fist in her face, and I went cold.

“Steph, tell them from me, that does not happen here. SAR! OVER HERE!”

My darling heard, and made her way through the crowd, and I saw the recognition spark in her on seeing Sophie. She murmured to me “One more to cosset, love?” then turned to the taller girl.

“Hiya, I am Sarah, Tony’s wife. And yes, me too. Annie, Steph, me, all sisters, sort of”

I slipped an arm around my wife’s waist, taking the chance to give her bum a squeeze as I did so.

“Sar, Sophie has had a few Joe-type problems. Can I leave you to have a chat, you know, girls together? I think her brother needs a pint. Roland? Beer?”

The sight of me pulling my jacket on sent the right signals, and together with a herd of other men we abandoned the hall and its solo piper for the Six Bells, where the international language of men, ‘beer’, served to cement our relationships. Roland’s English was very basic, but Geoff spoke more than enough to get by, as did Eric, and Dave knew the rude words that filled the gaps. Roland said a few things, and we got them in some sort of order, and it was clear that he had gained what he had been seeking, to show his sister that, in the words of the old cliché, it didn’t have to be like that.

“Geoff, can you ask him what his sis does?”

Foreign…”She’s a teacher, Tony, works in the language unit at Caen University”

Shit, that might work. “Geoff, just a thought, like, but has she ever thought of coming over here to do the assistant bit, you know, visiting frog to help kids learn the language? It’s just…”

Pat chipped in. “Fuck, aye, Tony. I’ll speak to Janet”

Geoff muttered something incomprehensible, and then we had to scrabble around for serviettes, as none of us were women and tears on a man is not something usually done for public consumption. What the hell had gone on over the Channel? Eric and Geoff teased it out, and Eric was shaking his head, mouth tight with anger.

“Some of the parents tried to get her blacklisted at the college, boys. There’s the usual policy in place to stop that, but one or two of them took it to her home. That’s why she’s living with Roland just now. She…she cut her wrists two months back”

Once more I saw Joe, someone I had never met, but knew by the taste he left in my mouth.

“Well, tell Roland this: it stops now, it stops here. Pat?”

“I will speak to Janet. This is what I was talking about, there in the pulpit. No more Melanies. Fuck, Tone, got that bottle of Sprite? Roland might appreciate a nip, and I certainly would”

Pat was right. No more Mels, not here, not anywhere. I passed him the bottle.