Raymond, to my immense surprise, had a pleasant light tenor, and he was singing properly, unlike most other people.
When did people become embarrassed to sing in public? Was it because of the decline in churchgoing?
And yet the television schedule was full of singing contests in which people, however untalented, were far from shy about participating.
Perhaps people are only interested in giving solo performances.
Surely this was the ultimate in disrespect—to attend a man’s funeral and mumble during hymns which,
however dreary, had been specifically selected to commemorate his life?
I began to sing more loudly. Raymond and I were making more noise than the next four pews put together, and I was glad of it.
The words were incredibly sad, and, for an atheist like myself, entirely without hope or comfort, but still;
it was our duty to sing them to the best of our ability, and to sing proudly, in honor of Sammy.
I sat down when it was finished, happy that Raymond and I had shown him the respect he deserved.
Quite a few people turned around to look at us, presumably because they had enjoyed our vocal tribute.
The minister spoke about Sammy’s life; it was interesting to hear that he’d grown up near a tiny village in the North East, on a sheep farm.
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