The remains of melted snow on the platform of the country station; a backdrop of lowering Peaks. The air crisp and biting. Clipped yews in the churchyard, and white lilies within; just one arrangement. The wheeze of the organ; three hymns... good, solid, traditional...taken at a rousing pace, with no risk of the congregation dragging raggedly (although some voices failed, all the same, from time to time...). The sun broke through, just as we emerged - wintry, but strong and clear - and there was laughter, walking downhill through sunlit fields, back toward the village. Tears. Happy memories. A poignant day.