Sebastian had been selected to read the first lesson. During the last verse of “Abide with Me,” he walked slowly up to the lectern, no longer trying to disguise a slight limp that had taken longer to recover from than the Indian surgeon had predicted. No one could predict how long it would take to recover from the last funeral he’d attended.

He began to read 1 Corinthians, Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, but have not charity, and Giles delivered the second reading, a poem by Kipling, If you can keep your head when all about you … while the choir sang “O Rejoice That the Lord Has Risen.” By the time Harry rose from his place in the front row and made his way to the pulpit during the last verse of “Abide with Me,” there was a sense of anticipation as he climbed the pulpit steps. He placed his text on the small brass lectern and checked the opening sentence, though in truth he knew the whole script by heart. He looked up and, once the congregation had settled, he began.

“How proud my mother would have been to see so many of you here today, some who have traveled from far and wide to celebrate her amazing life. You just can’t fill the churches nowadays, she used to say. Can’t understand it myself, because when I was a child the sermons went on for over an hour. Dear Mother,” Harry said, looking up at the ceiling, “I promise mine won’t be over an hour, and by the way, the church is packed.” A ripple of laughter broke out, allowing Harry to relax a little.

“Maisie was born in 1901, in the reign of Queen Victoria, and died at the age of seventy-one, during the reign of Queen Elizabeth the Second. My bookends, is how she used to describe the two Queens. She began life at 27 Still House Lane, in the back streets of the Bristol docks, and my father, Arthur Clifton, a docker, who was born in 1898, lived at number 37. They didn’t even have to cross the road to bump into each other. My father died when I was only one, so I never knew him, and the responsibility for bringing me up fell squarely on the shoulders of my mother. Maisie was never ambitious for herself, but that didn’t stop her spending those early years scrimping and saving farthings, yes, farthings, to ensure that I was never hungry, and never went without. Of course I had no idea of the sacrifices she had to endure to make it possible for me to attend St. Bede’s as a choral scholar, and later to go on to Bristol Grammar School before being offered a place at Oxford, a city she visited only once.