Friends, we are gathered today to bid farewell to our Friend, Mr Matthew Chambers.
We sit grouped around a simple altar-like table. There are no prayers or hymns, but the silence may be broken by anyone who feels moved to speak. Tom has that need, as he rises to tell us that he has just buried a man; quickly dispelling any notions of him being a serial killer by clarifying that he was just a spectator.
He is clearly finding this difficult; nervous and doubting whether this is what Mr Chambers would have wanted, but he has made the effort. Smartly dressed in a dark suit, he has even prepared music on an electronic keyboard – if he could just hit the right buttons. His sentences come to dead ends.
It doesn’t matter that we don’t know much about Mr Chambers – born 1921, three brothers, six sisters (all dead), as Tom never met him either. He had phoned Tom mistakenly believing that he was speaking to funeral directors, David and Sons.
Tom has just had his own experience with undertakers. Expecting a kindly old man with glasses and a gold chain, a safe pair of hands to manage his grief, he instead gets the Hunchback of Notre Dame. A gruff mid-European who stabs at a catalogue of caskets and tries to wring a decision out of him - Pick one!
This is not a great time. Still on bereavement leave, unshowered and unshaven in days, he struggles with the death of his father. He’s fine, fine, fine. But Mr Chambers is on the phone again and it appears that his wife has died, but there is just so much confusion with memories of his honeymoon and war service in Burma rushing to the fore.
Tom’s fights with own memories, recalling times that threaten to fade away; past experiences, regrets – the smell of this father’s jacket. His youthful Scouting experiences with their “Be Prepared” motto didn’t include a badge on the etiquette and processes of death.
This is a riveting solo performance that always feels authentic as Bonar explores grief and bereavement from its many sides. The set is deceptively simple with subtle changes to the mainly institutional strip -lighting and growling subsonics heightening the drama. There is perhaps a little too much of Mr Chambers’ “ramblings” that don’t reveal much. The musical levity at first seem at odds with the piece but offer respite and reflect the process. The actual number one funeral song is Monty Python’s “Always Look on the Bright Side”. Sometimes crying or laughing are the only options left.
Show Times: 4 – 28 (not 15) August 2016 at 3.20pm.
Tickets: £6 to £11.
Suitability: 12+