Post by The First Doctor on Feb 28, 2011 10:45:10 GMT -5
(OOC: Nicholas Courtney passed away last week. This is just a little tribute.)
The sign outside Southwark Cathedral simply read: "In Memorium: Brigadier Sir Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart".
He had saved the Earth two score times in his military career. He could have had - indeed, his wife had been offered - a state funeral at Westminster Abbey. His wife, Doris, had declined the offer. "He attended services at Southwark as long as he could," she had said. "I won't deny him this one last visit."
Eight senior members of UNIT UK had served as pallbearers, with RSM John Benton taking the place of honor at the right front corner. At the door, they were met by one of the ministers, a brown-eyed, auburn-haired man that none of the parishioners recognized. Slowly, to the tune of "Nearer My God To Thee," they made their way to the front of the cathedral. The coffin was set in place and, as the pallbearers took their seats, the minister turned to face the assembled mourners.
"For I am convinced that neither death nor life," he quoted from memory, "neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord." A pause. "Let us pray."
The mourners joined in. "Our eyes, Lord, are wasted with grief; you know we are weary with groaning. As we remember our death in the dark emptiness of the night, have mercy on us and heal us; forgive us and take away our fear through the dying and rising of Jesus your Son. Amen."
The minister paused, allowing the mourners time to reflect on the words of the prayer. Then he walked slowly to the coffin, and produced an ebony and silver cane from beneath the stand.
"I deeply regret that I never had the opportunity to meet or get to know Brigadier Sir Lethbridge-Stewart. His legacy is well known to all, though. Particularly to those assembled here today - his family and friends, his loved ones, and - dare I say - even his enemies."
More murmuring.
"So, rather than speak on the life of a man I know only by reputation, I invite those that knew him well to come forward."
The butt of his cane struck the cathedral floor. A slow, rhythmic groaning - something like vwoooorp, vwoooorp, vwoooorp - filled the air. The minister smiled. "You will have all the time you need."
The sign outside Southwark Cathedral simply read: "In Memorium: Brigadier Sir Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart".
He had saved the Earth two score times in his military career. He could have had - indeed, his wife had been offered - a state funeral at Westminster Abbey. His wife, Doris, had declined the offer. "He attended services at Southwark as long as he could," she had said. "I won't deny him this one last visit."
Eight senior members of UNIT UK had served as pallbearers, with RSM John Benton taking the place of honor at the right front corner. At the door, they were met by one of the ministers, a brown-eyed, auburn-haired man that none of the parishioners recognized. Slowly, to the tune of "Nearer My God To Thee," they made their way to the front of the cathedral. The coffin was set in place and, as the pallbearers took their seats, the minister turned to face the assembled mourners.
"For I am convinced that neither death nor life," he quoted from memory, "neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord." A pause. "Let us pray."
The mourners joined in. "Our eyes, Lord, are wasted with grief; you know we are weary with groaning. As we remember our death in the dark emptiness of the night, have mercy on us and heal us; forgive us and take away our fear through the dying and rising of Jesus your Son. Amen."
The minister paused, allowing the mourners time to reflect on the words of the prayer. Then he walked slowly to the coffin, and produced an ebony and silver cane from beneath the stand.
"I deeply regret that I never had the opportunity to meet or get to know Brigadier Sir Lethbridge-Stewart. His legacy is well known to all, though. Particularly to those assembled here today - his family and friends, his loved ones, and - dare I say - even his enemies."
More murmuring.
"So, rather than speak on the life of a man I know only by reputation, I invite those that knew him well to come forward."
The butt of his cane struck the cathedral floor. A slow, rhythmic groaning - something like vwoooorp, vwoooorp, vwoooorp - filled the air. The minister smiled. "You will have all the time you need."
