The Night Following by Morag Joss Page A

of attic. Hadn’t seen it for years. It’s easier to put my hand on things, now stuff is down from attic and where I can get at it.

Order of Service
Wedding of Arthur and Ruth
St. Mary’s Church, Abbotsbourne
14 June 1972
The Procession: A Whiter Shade of Pale
Introduction: The Reverend Geoffrey Greene

Hymn: “Jerusalem”

And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England’s mountain green?
And was the holy Lamb of God
On England’s pleasant pastures seen?
And did the countenance divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here
Among those dark satanic mills?
Bring me my bow of burning gold!
Bring me my arrows of desire!
Bring me my spear! O clouds, unfold!
Bring me my chariot of fire!
I will not cease from mental fight,
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand,
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England’s green and pleasant land.

The Marriage
The Lesson and Reading
Hymn: “Lord of the Dance”
(see separate sheet)
The Prayers
The Apache Blessing

Now you will feel no rain, for each of you will be shelter for the other. Now you will feel no cold, for each of you will be warmth to the other. Now there will be no loneliness, for each of you will be companion to the other. Now you are two persons, but there is only one life before you. May beauty surround you both in the journey ahead and through all the years. May happiness be your companion and your days together be good and long upon the earth.
The Signing of the Register
Hymn: “Blowin’in the Wind”
(see separate sheet)

Reminds me what you were like in those days, not that you went the whole hog on the hippie front. But you and your Apache blessings and blowing in the wind and all sorts. Remember the arguments? I’m glad I won the day over Jerusalem. I’m glad you wore white, even if it was a caftan, and at least the daisies in your hair didn’t start to wilt till after we were out of the church.

I’m glad I held my own and didn’t let you get
me
in a caftan—I won that argument, thank God, ditto matching daisies for a buttonhole.

A nurse has been. Mrs. M muttered something to the effect she’d called the doctor for me. Not a face I knew, the nurse, but she insisted she knew you. She’s attached to the community nursing team. I said oh, attached are you, so where’s the strings, but she was looking at my legs and didn’t laugh.

Legs very sore. Nurse says they need bandaging. This kind of thing takes time to heal, she says, she’ll be popping in to keep an eye, or it might be somebody else, all depends on rota. She left leaflets about support hose and hot meals. I put them with Carole’s about loss.

But how long is all this meant to go on for is what I want to know, and of course nobody’s got a leaflet about that.

Or about the dreams I get. Maybe dreams are more vivid if you sleep in daytime, I don’t know. The latest one was me following a man who’s got his back to me and I was following him because I was going to kill him with my bare hands. Quietly and calmly, but quite certainly, I was going to kill him. I couldn’t see his face, but it was the driver of the car.

Well that’s all

Arthur
     
    Cardigan Avenue was the kind of place I would never have just happened into, even in daytime. It wasn’t on the way to anywhere else. The road beneath the moon swayed in shallow intentional curves between trees set at intervals along the pavements, its nonchalance contrived for what would no doubt be labeled residential charm. The houses, set in large competitive gardens, stared out through luminous windows. There was something about them that would deter loiterers, an atmosphere of settlement that was not the same as neighborly. I moved carefully from tree to tree, pausing under each one. Up ahead of me somebody’s feet were stopping and scraping on the pavement; a chain clinked and I heard whispers urging a dog to hurry up. I waited in the dark. After a while there was more shuffling and then from farther away more