Grand March

Finally this morning the over-lapping of the music behind the house was sorted properly. On the first patch of grass the usual tai chi ladies were moving through their routines, cracking in unison their large red fans with the sound of gun shots when the garbage was taken out. Further around toward Block 6 another, larger group in orange polos were slow stepping left and right, swivelling and stretching their arms. The latter were newcomers to that place, a recently formed group, or perhaps relocated from another quarter. Two or three days now the musical accompaniment at that hour of morning confused and could not be properly deciphered.  Buddhist funerary music had become familiar over the years here; with the tai chi group sometimes playing their own form, however, the conjunction these last days was difficult to separate and distinguish. None of the yellow tenting or awning had been visible from the back of the house, nor from the corner going out to the road. Finally this morning it was the rousing martial beat and the stirring lyric with which the dead were escorted to their new homes that gave the game away. Unmistakeable that and unique. There had been a death in the upper corner of the Haig Blocks, perhaps within No.s 2 or 3. In such compact housing with people placed one on top of the other in twelve or thirteen blocks all the ceremonials of life arrived regularly there and were to greater or lesser degree shared, willy nilly. The strident up-beat of this particular passage was quite remarkable. Did it trace its genesis to war-time and strife; a military guard providing honour? One could imagine the role of this hymn in the clan associations; to an outsider drinking songs were another suggestion. Death was not to be feared. Stout heart, hold firm and strong. The Russian Funeral March was more sombre and far more doleful.