I went to a memorial service a while ago. Linda Roberts, Courteney’s valuable bookkeeper and all things accounting – her Mum-in-law had passed away, was cremated on Thursday, and the service was at Will’s and Linda’s home on Saturday.

Mum, 86 at closure, had lived with them and been bed-ridden for half a dozen years; from time to time a hospital stay was required but for a long time that had been the limit of her travelling abroad. Turnout was not expected to be high. From the factory Linda James, Helen and I reluctantly shelved our Saturday plans and made the sombre clothing effort on this steaming hot day. Arriving in good time we were introduced to the small contingent from Will’s office and a few close friends.

Studying the order of service I thought the words of the two hymns were very beautiful, but I didn’t recognise either of them. An elderly lady was playing a piano softly at the back of the room and I hoped she would pick up the slack come the time.

There was a small confusion, and a dash from our tiny ranks to correct, when the piano player didn’t hear the pastor’s instruction that we were to sing the second hymn first. This was my first inkling of trouble ahead because all of us had started singing anyway, which meant there were only one or two people in the room who knew the hymns. The false start and this realisation damaged our collective courage, and when the piano started again with the second hymn only Will and Linda softly contributed. Clearly the rest of us felt bad about this because the decision to at least take a stab at the tune was unanimous and concurrent. As one, we all picked the note of our choice and hesitantly warbled it. Of course no two people picked the same note because that’s life.

After a few minutes of this shy cacophony I leant slightly forward. I wanted to see how James and Helen, standing further down the row, were faring. Helen was leaning into her programme, forehead densely pleated as she glared at the lyrics, as though with enough concentration they might yield the melody. James was facing the ceiling, eyes wrinkled almost closed, grinning broadly, shoulders twitching. She jolted suddenly from which I deduced Helen had given her the elbow. I stood up straight again and soldiered on with my musical interpretation of

Fading away like the stars of the morning

Losing their light in the glorious sun

Thus would we pass from the earth and its toiling

Only remembered by what we have done.

You’d be surprised – the tune was completely different from what you imagine.

Linda had laid out a fine spread for afterwards and we all traipsed outside to apply ourselves diligently. Plates loaded, glasses charged, comfortable in the shade with a welcome intermittent breeze, we chatted. The atmosphere should have been muted, appropriate to a death in the family, but whether we felt kinship from our shared experience, or privately everyone’s inner funny bones had been jiggled, it wasn’t long before the compass of the occasion turned towards party. In retrospect I wonder if Will and Linda wondered what time we were all going to leave.

And I wish I could remember how we did so. Did we gather ourselves sufficiently to renew our sympathy, or did we gush our thanks for such a lovely day? Fortunately I don’t think it mattered.

I guess there are worse ways to go than on a wing and a laugh.