French Farce

Alice Anne Gordon

Fete 19th Juillet shouted the banner in bold red lettering as we wandered round the hamlet of St. Papoul. The banner didnt give much more information so we took on the challenge and set off in search of what would hopefully be an exciting afternoon.

For such a small place, there were a lot of winding back streets and passageways. Finally, we stumbled across an area of growing life. Cars pulling into the same street. Parked cars with their owners already departed. This surely must be where the Fete was. We continued to the end of the street and round the corner, found what looked like a rather important building. More cars pulled up and a small crowd had gathered outside. Unsure of the etiquette and formalities of how a small Hamlet might open their Fete, we stood quietly with the locals and waited for, perhaps, a Mayors welcoming speech before the festivities began.

The crowd grew and still the cars came.

The last car to arrive was travelling much slower than the others. It was black and, we couldnt tell at first, but it looked longer than the others. As it drew inevitably closer, it soon became apparent it was coffin length. And it came complete with a priest at its tailgate.

We couldnt walk away now, not in the middle of them moving the coffin. The best we could manage was to take off our caps and somehow blend in. Which is hard when youre wearing green and white hoops with shorts.

Itll be over soon, theyll take it inside and we can quickly, quietly slide away.

It did not come to pass, as the priest proceeded to bless and pray and pray and bless both the deceased and the crowd.

Now, surely now, it will finish?

The altar-boys passed the incense swinging contraption to the Priest. He chanted the rites and the crowd echoed the response. Our silence disguised as grief.

Now! Please God now, now it must be over. Take the body away. Let the crowd disperse. Allow us our escape!

The Priest held out his 5 foot crucifix and proceeded to walk amongst the crowd, each member of the funeral party stooping to kiss the feet of Jesus. I could not look at my companion, terrified of the absurdity of the situation we had found ourselves in. We stooped. We kissed. The altar-boy wiping away our insincere symbol of reverence.

Oh Lord, please hear MY prayer. Bring an end to our suffering and save us from this. Let it end, oh please God, let it end.

The Pall Bearers moved to lift the coffin. The Priest chanted his last few prayers as the crowd began to assemble in a line behind it. We held our position and politely let others go before us. As they gradually disappeared into the building, we slowly started to walk away in the other direction. Feigning grief, we trudged along the gravel path, keeping a close eye on the ever dwindling line. As the last of the mourners entered the building we increased our pace, jog turned to light run, to fully fledged sprint, laughter building with our speed, to the end of the road, round the corner and out of sight.