A Full Churchyard

by Nicholas Rhea

  ‘I understand that, but am I right in thinking it could happen?’

  ‘It could – I would agree that it is a fact that people can die from shock.’

  ‘It was a common occurrence in our forefathers’ time, Derek. People were helped to die by being laid on cold floors or smothered with soft pillows. . . .’

  ‘If it happened at that time it could happen now, Montague. Perhaps smothering would be detectable, but don’t quote me! This is merely my opinion.’

  ‘And mine!’ smiled Montague Pluke, ringing off.

  When Detective Inspector Pluke and Detective Sergeant Wain arrived at Crickledale’s Anglican Parish Church, people were already gathering outside the lych-gate. Some smiled brief acknowledgements to the plain-clothes police officers as they joined a small group of mourners waiting outside the church door. No one questioned their presence or commented upon it. The people appeared to be gathering in silent tribute to Mrs Langneb, but neither Pluke nor Wain recognized anyone. Most were from the anonymous population of Crickledale but Pluke guessed that relatives and friends may have travelled from elsewhere.

  Inside the church, through the open door, they could hear the organist playing appropriate music and then, as the clock showed it was 1.50 p.m., the people dispersed and began to shuffle inside the rather plain unadorned and uninspiring church. Each seemed unwilling to be first to enter or first to select a pew.

  Pluke had no such inhibitions. He strode manfully forward followed by Wayne Wain and they selected a pew towards the rear of the nave, from which they could observe everyone sitting in front of them. Hymn books and Orders of Service were already in place on the pews. And so the handful of mourners gradually filled a few rows of seats in front of the detectives, as Pluke and Wain tried to identify each one of them. Mrs Plumpton arrived in black, accompanied by a small, elderly lady who needed to be helped into her seat, and then Millicent came forward and also selected a pew, not beside her husband but at the side of Mrs Plumpton’s friend. Millicent did not acknowledge Pluke but he felt she was sullenly aware of his presence.

  The bier was already in place to accommodate the coffin and Pluke was pleased that the first three pews at each side of the aisle had been left unoccupied for relatives and friends of Mrs Langneb. There was ample space for them.

  Then a man’s voice called, ‘Please be upstanding’ and the organ music ceased. A plump grey-haired lady vicar appeared and took her place close to the bier to receive the deceased. In the hushed silence, the rather small coffin with a modest arrangement of flowers on top was carried in by four bearers. It was followed by the local undertaker, Joshua Carpenter, in his usual black suit and carrying a black top hat. A small group of family and friends followed and Pluke instinctively counted them. Fourteen. They were guided to their seats and as the coffin was placed upon the bier, the people opened their hymn books and selected the one that headed the list of numbers on the hymn board.

  The organist then struck up with the familiar chords of the hymn that begins O Lord my God! When I in awesome wonder. . . . perhaps better known as How Great Thou Art. At the conclusion of the short service, which revealed a total lack of emotion, sorrow or sacred atmosphere, the vicar announced that the interment would take place immediately in the churchyard surrounding the church.

  Afterwards, everyone was invited to join family and friends in the church hall for refreshments. Pluke noticed it was not yet 2.30 p.m. with the interment taking a further ten minutes or so. As family and friends moved towards the graveside, Pluke and Wain headed for the refreshments but would wait politely outside until the interment was complete; he had no place at the graveside. Wayne Wain joined him whilst Mrs Plumpton and her companion joined the others at the graveside. Millicent, still not acknowledging the presence of her husband, also went to the graveside.

  Then an elderly man known to Pluke and Wain as Awd Ezra appeared and joined them. He was one of the elderly characters of Crickledale; he was not a criminal or a down-and-out but eked a meagre living on his pension, part of which came from military service long ago with another part from his past employment.

  He had been a highway operative, perhaps more widely known as a road sweeper.

  ‘Now then, Mr Pluke,’ he displayed a wide toothless smile. ‘It’s not often we see you and your pal at local funerals.’

  Pluke knew he must take full advantage of this man’s local knowledge. A conversation initiated by this man would not appear to be a case of prying by the detectives.

  ‘It’s not often my sergeant and I have the time to attend funerals, Ezra. Our heavy workload and continuing responsibility for defending the people of Crickledale against ruthless criminals must take priority. But we have made an exception for Mrs Langneb, she was a good friend of my wife and she donated to police charities.’

  ‘Aye, well, I was asked to sit with her the night she died. No relations living nearby you see, nobody to sit overnight. So I volunteered.’

  ‘Sit where?’ asked Wayne who was unaccustomed to the protocol that surrounded a local death.

  ‘In t’house, Mr Wain. I was downstairs in t’living room and she was lying on her death-bed upstairs.’

  ‘So she wasn’t in a chapel of rest?’

  ‘No need, there wasn’t anybody else living in her house, Mr Wain, so she could be left in her own bed till t’very last minute. But we never like folks lying dead all by themselves, not ‘ere in Crickledale. So we keep ’em company by watching.’

  ‘Watching? Watching what?’

  ‘Sitting with ’em, keeping ’em company. We call it watching.’

  ‘Really? Does everyone do that?’

  ‘I expect so, it’s allus been t’custom in these parts.’

  ‘So why is it done? There must be a reason,’ said Wayne.

  ‘Search me, I’ve no idea. It’s done because it’s allus been done.’

  ‘She died peacefully, didn’t she?’ put in Pluke.

  ‘Oh, aye. Passed away overnight in her sleep. Lovely way to go. She was found next day by one of t’carers who called Doctor Simpson. I’ve watched since Friday night, it’s all we could do for her.’

  ‘Found, you say? Found where?’ asked Pluke.

  ‘Somewhere in t’house I would imagine.’

  ‘Which carer was that? Any idea?’

  ‘Search me, Mr Pluke, there’s that many of ‘em I never know one from t’other. But they allus took good care of Mrs Langneb and all t’other old folks.’

  ‘So you’re not one of the volunteer carers?’

  ‘Not me, Mr Pluke. I’d be no good looking after living folks.’

  ‘Have you watched at other deaths, Ezra?’

  ‘Oh, aye. Lots of ‘em over t’years. When folks died in their beds and there were no relations to come and watch, then I did it. Everybody needs somebody to watch over ’em in their final hours on earth.’

  ‘And when does the watch end?’ asked Wayne.

  ‘When t’undertaker comes to take t’body away, then afterwards I come to t’funeral, like today, and I get a free meal once in a while. It’s a big thing for a chap living on his own to get a meal, so I’ve never minded watching. We don’t get paid, you know, it’s a voluntary thing. I wouldn’t want money anyway.’

  ‘So are you there the whole time the deceased is lying in the house?’ asked Wayne.

  ‘No, just at night. Others come and go during t’day, friends, neighbours and such. Bringing flowers, cards, saying their farewells, that sort o’ thing.’

  ‘It’s a very noble thing to do,’ commented Pluke.

  ‘Nights are different from days, I think some folks would be scared stiff about watching at night.’

  ‘That’s not surprising,’ agreed Pluke.

  ‘It doesn’t bother me!’

  But Wayne wanted to know more. ‘But you wouldn’t do this in a chapel of rest, would
you? Watch all night there? It’s only done in the homes of people who’ve died.’

  ‘Right, Mr Wain. By t’time a body’s gone to a chapel of rest, its soul will have departed.’

  ‘What’s a soul got to do with all this?’ puzzled Wain.

  ‘Well, when somebody dies in their bed, their soul needs time to find its way out of t’body without getting lost, so it would be baffled in a dark and empty house, with mirrors about and so on, not knowing which was t’way out. So whenever I watch over Anglicans or them with no religion, I allus put t’lights on, all over t’house and I turn mirrors to face t’wall or else cover ’em up with a sheet or summat, to stop souls getting confused. Catholics look after their own.’

  ‘So what happens if a body is moved to a chapel of rest before the funeral?’

  ‘Well, it’s gone to t’right place, hasn’t it? A churchy place. Souls know how to cope with churches and they’d never leave bodies that were moving around . . . so there we are.’

  ‘I don’t know what to make of all this,’ admitted Wayne Wain.

  ‘Don’t try,’ advised Pluke. ‘Well, Ezra, I think I hear people moving from the graveside, so we can go in and help ourselves to something to eat, and have a nice cup of tea.’

  ‘Nice talking to you both. Funny about Miss Croucher, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Was it?’ asked Pluke.

  ‘Yes, that business of putting her on t’cold floor to help her on her way. Mrs Langneb was on t’floor too, when she was found. Mebbe there were others, but it’s an old custom. Opening doors and windows is one thing, but lying folks on cold floors doesn’t sound very pleasant to me. But if it makes ‘em pass away peacefully, then I suppose it’s all right. Ah, here they come, some just turning up for a free tea. I’m going in first otherwise there’ll be queues and no sandwiches left. Proper gannets some folks are, Mr Pluke. Come along both of you, don’t get stuck behind a queue! First come first served, I say.’

  They allowed Ezra to rush ahead to secure a full plate of goodies, but waited until the first flush of mourners were approaching, and then Pluke, acting as a leader, walked steadily towards the entrance and led the way inside. Wayne followed as everyone queued for the toilets or mingled over the table that was full of buffet food. As Pluke entered, Ezra had already piled his plate high with savouries, which he would demolish with relish before returning for a second helping. And then there were trifles and cakes. . . .

  When Pluke and Wayne had helped themselves, they refrained from sitting down at one of the tables – that was a sure way of isolating themselves from the other mourners.

  ‘Did you hear Ezra say Mrs Langneb had been found on the floor, Wayne?’

  ‘I did. What do you make of that?’

  ‘I’d say it was another notch in our gun, Wayne.’

  ‘It certainly makes me think. . . .’

  Millicent and other helpers were in the kitchen preparing food, washing pots and making tea so he never saw her or talked to her. Rather than seek Millicent when she was busy, Pluke felt it important that he and Wayne moved among the mourners, mingling as only an experienced mingler can do. Both would strike up conversations about Mrs Langneb, whilst referring to the fact that Ezra had kindly sat with her corpse overnight. That should persuade people to talk informally to the team of police officers.

  Then Pluke spotted Jacob Carpenter, today’s undertaker. He was heading for the tea urn but with one of his swift moves, Pluke reached him as he settled down to fill his cup.

  ‘Jacob,’ he asked. ‘Could Sergeant Wain and I have a quick chat with you? Somewhere quiet? Out of earshot? Bring your tea.’

  ‘Aye, of course, Mr Pluke. It’s not often we see you fellows at funerals, so is there summat wrong?’

  ‘Not that I’m aware of. It’s just that I’m intrigued by some of the local funeral customs here in Crickledale, things that have escaped me in all the years I’ve lived and worked here,’ smiled Pluke. And so, with Wayne Wain following, they made their way to a small table in a corner away from flapping ears.

  ‘Sit down, Jacob,’ invited Pluke making rare use of someone’s first name. ‘There’s something we’d like to ask you.’

  Chapter 9

  ‘Is it summat to do with your research into ancient superstitions, Mr Pluke?’ asked the undertaker. ‘I do remember that talk you gave to t’annual conference of t’District Association of Funeral Directors, Undertakers and Embalmers – Times of Death in the Yorkshire Coastal Region it was called, if my memory serves me right. Dying as t’tide went out and getting born as t’tide came in, that sort o’ thing. Very interesting stuff, Mr Pluke.’

  ‘Thank you, Jacob,’ Pluke rarely if ever used a person’s Christian name in formal discussions unless he was extremely well acquainted with the other person. His occasional exceptions might include those times he interviewed people of a certain class in circumstances where he did not wish the discussion to appear like an interrogation. He continued, ‘It’s pleasing to note your interest and, of course, we must heed such things – we can’t dismiss those beliefs as erroneous even if they do date from the Middle Ages. Many of us continue to follow ancient beliefs, perhaps in different ways, so yes, my enquiry does embrace old customs.’

  ‘Well, I allus touch wood if I’ve got a tricky job to do and I spit if I see a magpie on its own. Touching wood isn’t very difficult when I’m making coffins, but it’s nice that I can help you to keep up to date on such things, Mr Pluke. So what do you want to know? You’re not planning your own funeral, are you? Some folks do that, you know. Plan it years in advance, reserve a plot and pay up front.’

  ‘I hope I have many more years of hunting horse-troughs ahead of me, Jacob. I have no intention of departing this life just yet. But down to serious business. Can you remember the death of Miss Croucher? Adelaide Croucher.’

  ‘I’ll never forget it, Mr Pluke. A rum do if you ask me.’

  ‘Were you her undertaker?’

  ‘I was. I’ll never forget it, a very odd affair, Mr Pluke.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Well, her being found lying on t’pantry floor like that, in her nightie, laid out as if waiting for me to deal with her.’

  ‘It must have been very strange and something of a surprise, finding her like that.’

  ‘Aye, it was, Mr Pluke. I could see she’d not tripped up or fallen or owt like that, she was just laid there. Neat and tidy. Ready for t’box. Most peaceful she was. You can tell from folks’ faces whether they died in peace or not. She was at peace, there was no doubt about that, but I thought what a funny spot to end her days. I still think she was put there, she could never have laid herself out so well and so neatly. I couldn’t have done a better job myself.’

  ‘So what was your reaction?’

  ‘Well, I thought about her only this week when I had to deal with Mrs Langneb. She was on t’floor an’ all, just like poor old Miss Croucher, just lying there as if she’d been placed ready for t’box.’

  ‘Have there been others like that? Either those you’ve heard about or those you’ve seen for yourself?’

  ‘Aye, one or two, Mr Pluke, but I don’t do all t’Crickledale funerals, you understand. I’ve had to cope with old folks lying on t’floor, and I know other funeral men have done t’same in this town. Don’t ask for names, I can’t remember much these days. Old age, you know. It gets you like that. Miss Croucher was a bit different because t’police were called in and they thought she’d been attacked. That was my reaction an’ all, Mr Pluke. I thought she’d been assaulted and left there. It was a shock, believe me, you don’t expect such things in Crickledale.’

  ‘But by the time you were called in, all the preliminary work would have been done?’

  ‘It was, but I had to deal with her remains, Mr Pluke. Anyone seeing her lying where she was would have thought somebody had broken in and attacked her. But it wasn’t
like that. No injuries, no bruising . . . she was just lying there at peace. Mind you, I don’t know how she got herself downstairs, she could hardly walk and allus used that lift on t’staircase. It goes up and down at t’touch of a button. Marvellous contraption, Mr Pluke, for old folks who are a bit lame.’

  ‘And where was the lift when you arrived?’

  ‘Top o’ t’stairs in its resting place, Mr Pluke. I know that because I wondered how it had got there. If she’d come down on it to get herself a drink of milk or summat, it would have come downstairs with Miss Croucher on board.’

  ‘So what were your thoughts?’

  ‘Well, I thought somebody must ’ave replaced it, sent it back upstairs – mebbe it was t’person who laid her out, that’s what I thought. But I never asked, it was nowt to do with me, was it? I was curious, that’s all.’

  ‘So that made you think the entire situation was rather odd?’

  ‘It did. Things didn’t add up, Mr Pluke. She had no slippers on, I noticed that, undertakers do notice what their customers wear at t’time of death in case there was some request for bits and pieces to go into t’coffin with ’em. Folks still believe in that you know, they want to take their precious bits and pieces with ’em into eternity. Some want ’em beside ’em in t’coffin, and others are happy for ’em to go into t’grave at their side. Linton Farewell and his Sooty mate see to all the stuff that goes into t’grave, I see to what goes into t’coffin.’

  ‘I’m still surprised that people want that kind of thing, Jacob. Quite fascinating.’

  ‘I knew one fellow who wanted his Hornby train set buried with him, it had been a Christmas present from his dad when the chap was a kid o’ three years old. Very touching, Mr Pluke. And we did what he wanted. Then there was that chap who wanted a bell buried with him, with a pull-string, just in case they buried him alive and he woke up under six feet of soil. Some just settle for a keepsake, a present mebbe, their wedding dress or summat. Some folks get very attached to their belongings, Mr Pluke.’