26-02-2000

"Michael Knowles…" Arthur Littock pondered over the dinner table after a Saturday afternoon meal. "I have heard the name before," he murmured.

"Really?" responded Nicky, Arthur’s recently wedded wife.

"Yes." Arthur continued. "I’ve got a request for a funeral for him. Think I must have met him somewhere."

"Funeral for him? Or the request by him?"

"Oh… no he’s dead. He died. Girl called Sophie something requested…" Arthur stood. "I’ll go and check the details."

Ten minutes later, Nicky found her husband, the new vicar of the local church in the small town in Australia where they were now living, contemplating a scrap of paper in the living room. "Something bothering you about this?" she asked.

Arthur nodded slowly. "Sophie Darrow. Did a funeral for her sister, Alicia Darrow. There was a young man there by the name of Jon. I forget his second name. Not a month after Miss Darrow’s funeral, I had to do Jon’s. Hannigan, that was it. Shortly thereafter I was called upon by an anonymous person to conduct the funeral of a girl who had attended Miss Darrow’s funeral. Rachel something. And now…"

"And now?"

"There was another young man at Miss Darrow’s funeral. Michael Knowles. And now I get a request to conduct his funeral service."

Nicky frowned. "Sounds strange."

"Well Rachel’s death was actually what made me come out here you know. I was right on the verge of a nervous breakdown." Arthur sighed, frowning. "I don’t understand."

Nicky sat next to her new husband and put her arm around him. "Don’t worry about a thing," she told him. "Trust in God."

It had not been long since Arthur Littock, a man of God of 28 years, had made his emigration to Australia. It had been two days, however, since he had received the letter of request for the funeral of Michael. This had been weighing heavily on his mind; he saw links between the deaths. And although each seemed so far to be either natural or unexplained, there was no denying the peculiarity of a circle of friends all dying within a short space of time. Three months and four deaths.

Arthur had accepted the request, and planned to conduct the service on the next Sunday, two days from now. It had been asked of him that he arrange to conduct the ceremony in the same church in which the others had all had their services.

27-02-2000

The plane had landed earlier that morning, and Arthur was still feeling stiff from his long flights. He had only just arrived at the tiny church of which he used to be the vicar.

"Reverend Littock?" inquired a solemn-looking man in a tall hat.

"Yes?" he responded.

"Ah good. I’m the undertaker. This way." He indicated to follow him into the building. "My name is Stephen Lazarus," he called out as he entered.

It was ten minutes before the service was scheduled to begin. As yet, no mourners had turned up; the church was empty now, save for two undertakers sitting morbidly at the rear of the church, and the dead Michael lying close-eyed and expressionless in an open mahogany coffin below the pulpit.

Sophie Darrow entered the church. She was dressed in a small, black dress and carried a dark hat in her hand. She didn’t speak, but took a place on the front-most pew of the church and bowed her head.

The undertakers from the back did not look up. The clock struck the eleventh hour and Reverend Arthur Littock commenced the funeral service for Michael Knowles. As the clock continued to strike, he began, "Each man’s death affects me, because I am a man, and am involved in mankind. So do not send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee." Arthur paused. "Tragedy again befalls us all. For Michael Knowles no more so than we. Friends, this man…"

Almost an hour later, the service was over. Sophie, the only mourner, was standing by the still-open coffin, whispering inaudibly.

Arthur Littock removed himself from the scene and retreated to the sanctuary of the vestry. "God," he cried, "How can I take this?"

For Arthur, the journey back to the airport was to be a long and silent one. Arriving, he retained no recollection of the two hundred mile trip. He boarded his aeroplane, which would return him to the new familiarity of Australia and his recently wedded wife.

It would be four years before Arthur would again think on the matters of Durham, and the strange tale and series of events that had led to the emigration of him to the land down under.

Back in England, the police, although ardent in their attempts to find the unknown murderer of Michael, could no discover any clue to the identity of the guilty.

Sophie assisted the police force as much as she was able to, but nothing was ever found to provide a lead.

Michael Knowles was laid to rest in the St Mary’s Cemetery, alongside his old friends, Jon Hannigan, Alicia Darrow and Rachel Sartin. And so the four remained together as far as could be seen by those on earth. Four headstones and four friends, forever resting under the beech tree, no more than a mile from the college where they met.