Lionel

We keep Lionel in a dark cupboard. It’s the best place for him. Occasionally we leave him in the foyer but for the most part he’s out of sight and out of mind.

One of our long-serving trustees, Lionel died unexpectedly on a Tuesday. I was the last person at the centre to see him alive. He came in on the Monday to complain – yet again – about our chair trolley, which has had a wobbly wheel for as long as we can remember. The church uses the community centre on Sunday mornings, offering coffee and cake to members of its dwindling congregation; as one of the church wardens Lionel was responsible for putting out the tables and chairs.

“It still works,” I told him about the trolley, “there’s a knack to it.”

“It’s not fit for purpose,” he sniffed. “I’ve complained about this before. Please can you assure me you will do something about it this time?”

I assured him that we would. Unfortunately Lionel’s heart was even less fit for purpose than our chair trolley and the next morning he dropped dead.

In truth I was never much of a fan of Lionel. I found him pompous, condescending and something of a windbag. A cricket loving ex-RAF man who later worked in avionics, one of his achievements was helping to develop the surveillance camera on Vulcan bombers that could, and I quote from his own C.V, “read the label on ladies underwear from 30,000 feet”.

Nonetheless several of the other trustees were devestated by Lionel’s sudden passing. After the funeral they discussed organising a memorial for him; perhaps the planting of a small tree in the garden or a brass plaque on one of the benches. We thought it best not to mention that we had already established a tribute of our own. We have named our new chair trolley after him. Under the circumstances it was the least we could do.