Steady Now Doctor by Robert Clifford

funeral for many of the things that he had failed to do for his wife during her life. Andy thought he would be the one running around to the funeral director, registering the death, arranging everything, but his father insisted on doing everything himself and remained poised and calm.
    The undertaker was charming and helpful. It was a question of putting notices in papers, type of coffin, type of hearse, and how many cars, et cetera.
    Andy’s mother had been taken to the Chapel of Rest. As the undertaker was leaving Andy walked alongside him and asked if he could possibly go and see his mother in the Chapel of Rest. “I can only advise you not to sir,” said the undertaker.
    â€œI am a medical student,” said Andy.
    â€œI’m afraid, sir, I can only really advise you not to.”
    Andy had no idea how much his mother had been smashed up in the crash, but he had a sudden thought of seeing her as one of the formalized dissecting specimens they were working on in the medical school.
    They had to fix up the time of the funeral service with a young curate, and as they weren’t churchgoers he seemed a bit offhand that they should want an elaborate church service, but nevertheless he was patient with them, and agreed to give her the full works.
    Letters started to pour in from everywhere, and the phone was ringing continually for the next few days.
    Grandma and Grandpa Butcher came to stay. Grandma was in a terrible state, grandpa said nothing, only looking enviously at a row of books.
    There was so much going on, people coming and going.
    Mrs Robinson had organized a sort of high tea for the long distance relatives, and after the funeral there would be a glass of sherry for everybody.
    Examining the funeral arrangements, Andy was appalled to find that his father had been in touch with the Army Camp that the drama troupe were on their way to. They’d not only had a promise from the Commanding Officer for an Army escort and a firing party, but also the regimental brass band.
    Andy just had no time to think or reflect about his mother, most of his reflecting time had been on the train. He still wasn’t sure that she was dead, but she must be, there was his father going on as if their marriage had been a love affair akin to Antony and Cleopatra.
    The funeral day came, thank God it wasn’t raining. It was a reasonably fine autumn day, the Army band played, the church was packed and, of course, with the soldiers and the band and all the fuss literally hundreds came. The church, which could hold 600 or 700, was completely full, and crowds had gathered outside. It was all so unreal, more like a pageant than a funeral.
    Andy just wanted to get away and grieve quietly.
    The curate did a good job in spite of the fact that he didn’t know any of them.
    The guard of honour fired a volley over the grave and the band played some sort of funeral march, both there, and as they left the churchyard.
    About thirty close relatives and friends filled the house, all jabbering away as if it was a party rather than a funeral. Cousins, aunts, and uncles who hadn’t seen each other for years, consuming sandwiches, sausage rolls, trifles and such things.
    There was a queue for the two toilets in the house, and fortunately Mrs Robinson had the foresight to get in some extra toilet rolls.
    Finally there was a hard core composed of one of his aunts, his grandparents, Andy and his father and Mrs Robinson sitting talking. For the first time they were really talking about his mother. Grandma Butcher, head bowed, weeping steadily into her handkerchief, and Grandpa Butcher, with no book, just sitting looking ahead, and not contributing to the conversation. In the end it was just his grandparents and he and his father, Mrs Robinson had gone home. Then there seemed nothing to talk about. All conversation had been used up.
    The next day his father ran the Butchers to the train for them to make the long and tedious journey