Copyright Oggbashan December 2020
The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.
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"Arthur? I want a joyful noise unto the Lord." Idris said.
"There will be, Idris," I promised. "We start with the Scots marching through the City, and then a nine-gun salute from your Royal Artillery."
"There will be choirs, and dancers?"
"Yes, Idris. There will be the Cathedral choir, the Boys and Girls Cathedral choirs, the Miners' Male voice choir, the London Welsh choir and of course the congregation as well."
"Good, Arthur. I will appreciate a noisy send off. Who knows, I might turn up myself to take part."
Idris closed his eyes. He was very tired on what we all knew was his death bed. He had only hours to live.
Idris Jones, formerly Major Idris of the Royal Artillery during the Normandy campaign, three times Mayor of Canterbury, Sir Idris, MC, and many other awards was dying at the age of ninety-five. He would have a Civic Funeral celebration in Canterbury Cathedral and I, as the current Mayor's Secretary, had been told to arrange it.
The Mayor had told me to discuss it with Idris and the budget was unlimited. Apart from City Council funds so many companies and individuals had promised help or finance to make sure Idris' life was celebrated in spectacular fashion. So much of what the City currently was owed its existence to Idris.
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Two weeks later, the night before the event, I was in bed awake with my head spinning with all the details for tomorrow. So much could go wrong. But whatever happened, Idris would have his noise.
I was most worried about the end of the one minute silence. Idris had insisted on only one minute. He said that was long enough to stop a whole city -- and it would.
All the traffic lights would stay red for that minute. The railway level crossing gates would be shut; the trains waiting in the stations; the shops and supermarkets would announce the beginning and end of the minute and tills wouldn't operate.
But the end of the minute would be announced by a nine gun salute from the Royal Artillery sited on the hill by the University, nearly a mile from the City Walls. The officer in charge had assured me that we would hear it, even inside the cathedral. I wasn't convinced. I had arranged if necessary, to signal to the organist and the bell ringers if we didn't hear the guns.
I finally slipped into a restless sleep still worried by the organisation for tomorrow.
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At ten-thirty I was standing by the main Cathedral Gate, hearing the pipes and drums of the Scots as they marched down the City's main street. Idris would have been pleased at the wall of sound as the band marched down the narrow street leading to the Buttermarket. The pipes and drums took up position to one side of the gate as the soldiers, kilts swinging, bayonets fixed and standards flying, marched through the gate into the Cathedral Precincts.
I hurried past the band as it followed the troops and took up my position inside the Cathedral entrance. Most of the congregation were already in place. I had to wait for the Civic procession and take my place just behind the present Lord Mayor. We processed down the centre aisle to take our places in the front rows. I was on a left hand end, ready to slip out if anything went wrong, and I was due to give the last reading from the Bible.
Just before eleven o'clock the Dean came forward and asked people to stand for the one minute's silence. The cathedral bells seemed loud in the silence and I counted all eleven strikes for the hour. I readied myself, with my eyes on the second hand of my watch, ready to signal if the guns weren't heard.
I shouldn't have worried. The Cathedral shook. The whole City shook. The Royal Artillery had brought three of their most powerful artillery pieces, 155mm cannon, I think, and the explosions were ear-shattering even inside the cathedral. (Later I had to pay the bills for a dozen broken windows.)
The first Hymn was 'Onward Christian Soldiers'. I think Idris would have been pleased. Five choirs, the Scots, the congregation, the Scots band, two brass bands and the organ were all trying to be louder than each other.
The first man came forward for a Bible reading. His text was: Matthew 7:24-27
24 "Therefore, whosoever heareth these sayings of Mine and doeth them, I will liken him unto a wise man, who built his house upon a rock.
25 And the rain descended and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat upon that house; and it fell not, for it was founded upon a rock.
26 And every one that heareth these sayings of Mine and doeth them not, shall be likened unto a foolish man, who built his house upon the sand;
27 and the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell, and great was the fall of it."
He closed the Bible and said:
"I represent the Council tenants of this City. I live in the first council house built by Idris and his father eighty years ago. Idris was an apprentice at that time but he went on to build many hundreds of council houses here. They, like mine, are all well-built -- to a standard not a price and his company rarely made a profit on them. They just wanted to build good houses the City would be proud of. Thanks to Idris, they are."
He walked away as the next hymn was announced -- The Lord of The Dance.
We had to wait a few minutes while the dancers assembled, from the ballet school and dance club that Idris had founded and financed. They danced while we sung.