February 9th 2022
February is always a difficult month. Felix’s birthday is on the 15th. He was born in 1997. This year he would have been 25.
I am thinking about this as I arrive at the Green Hill, and wondering, as always at this time of year, if any flowers will have popped up on the mound of earth that covers his resting place. For many months now his grave has been dormant. I bend down and look at the grave. The primroses we planted back in the year he died are looking very green and fresh but there are no flowers yet. I feel disappointed inside. Then, I look a little closer and I see a slim yellow bud, the start of a flower, and my heart lifts. Then I notice a few snowdrops.
The sign of new life on Felix’s grave is what I look for, what I hope for. A sign of growth, a sign of life.
I remove the tulips which are lying on his headstone from my last visit, which are now rather withered. I replace them with a small posy of dwarf irises and snowdrops from our garden. The irises in particular I associate with Felix. They were in season when he died, and we threw lots of irises into his grave.
I wander up to the ceremonial building and notice three black plastic lobster pots placed in a line, forming a bier for a coffin. There must be a funeral today. Colourful, warm rugs have been placed on the benches, and there is a table with an order of service on it. I pick it up, and see the name Bruce Bennett, along with a lovely black and white picture of a man outside the Harbour Lights restaurant in Paignton. I have read about this in the local media in the last few days. Bruce was born in bred in Devon, and was a shell fisherman, coastguard, and lifelong Labour party member, as well as being involved in lots of local organisations. He died recently at the age of 83.
I am glad he will be here to keep Felix company.
The Green Hill 