Wednesday
Cold and wet.
Up very late, so went along to Sheepen first,
to see about some fencing.
Captain Folkard rather
annoyed, as well he might be.
Early
lunch, and then went along to St Mary’s for the funeral [of Sir W. Gurney Benham].
Flags were flying half mast on
the Town Hall and the Castle (I hear the Castle flag was put upside down to
start with), but no other signs of mourning.
No shops shut, not even Benham’s, and no black shutters, as used to be
done in olden days.
People in dark Sunday clothes
going up Church Street
and into the Churchyard. Chained my
cycle to some tomb railings, gave my name to a reporter, and went in, just as
the sun came bursting through fluffy clouds.
Old Campbell
was acting as sidesman, and put me into a seat in the South aisle. Have not seen him since he did the electric
wiring at the Castle. Just in front of
me sat Richardson, Billlington, and another man from the Engineer’s office, and
Archie Alderton, the schoolmaster, sat alongside me in the same pew. Just behind me were May and his sister from St. May’s cottage.
In the nave pews were all the Gas
Company people, one with a top hat, and the Brewery folk, old Daniell, purple
in the face, Tucker the Secretary, and one or two others. There was a big block of seats left vacant on
the North side of the Nave for the Corporation, and the front pews on the South side
were reserved for the family mourners.
The organ was playing the “Dead
March” very quietly, and the Passing Bell tolled slowly. All the while aeroplanes were going
over. The church was filling up. Time seemed to be motionless, and the bell
went on tolling. Thought of all Gurney
had done. What a tremendous life, to
start before the invention of bicycles, motors, or telephones, and to finish up
in a roar of aeroplanes, tanks, and radio.
He never had an easy life, and had a hard struggle when a young man. It was getting on the Council in place of
Bawtree, who had to leave on account of the Bank crash in 1891, that really
gave him a start.
The choir came in, and moved into
their places. Then there was a shuffling
at the back of the church, everybody stood with a rumble of feet, and the Mayor
and Corporation came up the North aisle, the Town Sergeant carrying the mace
draped in black, four Sergeants at Mace with the Ward-Mace, also draped. Why they went up the North aisle was difficult
to see, as there was not much room, and they had to shuffle across to get to
their seats. The Town Sergeant fixed the
mace to the end of the Mayor’s pew, and they filed in – the Mayor, Deputy Mayor
(who is rumoured to take Sir Gurney’s place as High Steward), the Town Clerk,
Oswald Lewis our M.P. Behind them
came the scarlet robed Aldermen - Blaxill, Blomfield, Piper, (looking very
old), Harper, then the Councillors in blue, -
Smallwood, Ralph Wright, Miss Elfreda Saunders, and the others. Practically the whole council were
there. Behind them sat the Corporation
officers (Collins with a top-hat).
More waiting, the bell tolling,
the organ murmuring sadly, and then down from the Chancel came Canon Campbell,
the Revd Mason, his curate, the Revd Jack of All Saint’s, and young Eric
Turner, now a curate, Sir Gurney’s grandson.
They walked down the aisle to the West Door. A pause, and then we heard the Curate’s voice
beginning the service - “I am the Resurrection and the Life …” Back up the church, the four clergy in front,
then Beckett, the undertaker, the coffin draped with a purple pall, wreaths on
top. Behind walked Hervey Benham with
his mother, Alderman Gerald in army uniform, with his wife, then Maura, very tall
and handsome, in a smart green hat, walking with Hervey’s wife, then Edna (Mrs
Seaman), young Gordon Corner, and some ladies whom I do not know.
Young Eric Turner read one of the
lessons, and his father Ernest played the organ. The service was not very long, and then the
Canon preached a sort of elegy, very badly.
Among other things he mentioned that Sir Gurney had never failed to
attend church, and had been a regular communicant, every month. Never knew this before.
At last it was all over, and the
coffin moved slowly down the church, the mourners behind, Lady Benham walking
lame and leaning heavily on her stick, Maura’s face pale and quite
expressionless. We could hear the noise
of the shutting of car doors, and the starting of engines, as they set out for
the crematorium at Ipswich, carrying him down
the High Street for the last time, past the “Essex County Standard”, past the
Town Hall, where he so often went, past the Holly Trees and away out of the
town. And so his long life ended. How strange to think that he served on the
Council for 6 years in the Old
Town Hall, and that the
Norman Moot Hall had been destroyed only 15 years when he was born. Middle Row had been cleared away little more
than a year, and the Cattle Market was still held in the High Street. He was 5 years old when the American Civil
War ended. When my mother was born, he was
a boy of 8, going to the Grammar School.
In 1870 he saw, a boy of 11, the demolition of St. Mary-at-the-Walls,
and at 19 the demolition of St. Runwald’s.
I am told that he did not take
any particular interest in antiquities until he was working on a newspaper at Salisbury, in about
1880. He was told to write an article on
an old graveyard there, which aroused his interest in the past.
How much truth there is in the
stories about his business methods I don't know.
In his latter years he was very mean, but whether it is true that he was
simply a money grabber I don't know. Some
say he made a fortune out of the town, but I don't believe this is true.
Going down High Street I passed
the civic procession walking back to the Town Hall, people staring curiously,
most of them having not the slightest idea who they were.
Had tea with Daphne, and then
went to see Poulter. Talked about the
funeral, and the future of the Museum.
Suggested I might try to get a release from the War Agricultural Committee and go back there. The idea attracts me, but such a return would
only be on my own conditions.
In the papers tonight, an account
of the Americans' activities in London
last night, when they held up the traffic all over the city, and searched cafes
and restaurants, and hotels, demanding papers from all the men, both civilians
and troops. This must be the first time
since the arrival of William III that foreign troops have carried weapons in London, and have
threatened the civilian population with them.
Photographs in the press show American soldiers pointing their rifles at
bus drivers.
More rain and wind, so we may
have another quiet night.
