Chapter 13
In the films and on television, funerals always seem to take place on cold, windy, and rain-swept days. But as we stood at the graveside in the cemetery attached to the small Elizabethan church in Newcastle, the hot sun beat down, casting its baking warmth on our mourning-clad bodies.
Roy had requested to be buried next to his wife Kathy, and he’d also asked us to make the service as simple as possible. He’d been very insistent he be given a secular send off.
Mark stood bravely at the open graveside, his eyes fixed on a piece of paper as he stoically read “Stop All the Clocks” by WH Auden.
Roy had also asked me to read something, but left the choice to me. I’d pored over many poetry anthologies and finally came up with “Autumn Rain” The poem talked about how the mourners sh
