The Grave of Ants Heenan

 

The Grave of Ants Heenan

Big Mags looked at her son and shook her head, ‘naw, son. I know yer da loved the Celtic but I’m not having a flag oan his coffin and I’m not having any fitbaw songs in the church. Ye know my side of the family kick wi the other foot. I’m no having a repeat of Charlene’s wedding at a bloody funeral.’  Tony Heenan cringed at the thought of what occurred at the wedding of his cousin Charlene. It took place on the same day as a Celtic-Rangers match and the hall was pretty much split between the two families who shared opposing views on who was the best team in Glasgow. Folk held their peace until the drink kicked in and Tony had started singing, ‘Jota on the wing.’ The ensuing brawl saw the bride in tears, the groom arrested and the cake flattened by two obese men who seemed to think they were sumo wrestlers. It was not a pleasant memory.

Tony Heenan looked at his mother imploringly, ‘but ma, ye heard him in the hospital. He wants you’ll never walk along played in the church.’ The family matriarch shook her head, ‘son, he wis aff his head on morphine and havering. Nae fitbaw stuff and that’s that!’  Tony shook his head, ‘can I not just stick a wee mention on the front of his gravestone saying he was a big Celtic man?’ She gave him a stern look, ‘son, yer uncle Hector is a high heed yin in the ludge, I don’t want any feathers ruffled at this funeral. Yer da left a few quid and you’ve got a good whack coming if ye behave. Ye understand me?’ Tony sighed, ‘aye, okay ma.’ She looked into his eyes, ‘Tony! Promise me you won’t put anything about Celtic oan the front of ye da’s gravestone. If ye dae ye won’t get a penny.’ Tony exhaled, ‘right ye are, maw.’

Two days later, Tony Heenan shook hands with various relatives as they entered St Margaret’s for the funeral. His uncle Hector, wearing a dark suit that made him look like an unemployed undertaker, offered him a limp, cold handshake. ‘Me and my boys will wait outside. You know our beliefs about the Catholic church.’ Tony shook his hand, ‘aye, nae bother, Hector.’ As he climbed the steps into the church, he muttered to himself, ‘Ye knew my da for fifty years and you won’t come intae his funeral service? Prick!’ He sat beside his mother who whispered to him, ‘nae problems wi Hector?’ Tony shook his head, ‘naw, he’ll see us outside when it’s over.’ As the service began, Tony looked at the picture of his smiling father which had been placed on his coffin. He was suntanned, smiling and younger. ‘Seville,’ he smiled to himself. ‘We had some party there.’

The service had all the elements his old man would have wanted. The old hymns were belted out; Hail Queen of Heaven, on eagle’s wings and his old fella’s favourite, do not be afraid.’ Tony was holding it together until the end of the service when the cantor started to sing the final psalm.

‘May Christ who called you take you to himself,

May angels lead you to Abraham’s side.’

It seemed so final, like the last farewell. It really hit him then that his old man was gone and he’d never see him again. Never go to Celtic Park with him again and hear him shouting encouragement to his team. Tears cascaded down his face as he sang the response…

Receive his soul, receive his soul

and present him to God the most high.

Receive his soul, receive his soul

and present him to God the most high.

The cemetery was surprisingly bright and springlike as they laid Anthony Heenan to rest. A good crowd of mourners gathered around the graveside to support the family. The priest spoke of ‘Ants’ Heenan as a well-known character in the community who loved his family and his football. There would be time to share stories of him when they got back to the church hall for the funeral lunch. For now, it was formal and Tony thought, quite fitting. A good send off for a good guy.

It was a month after the funeral, when the ground had settled, that the gravestone was finally put in place. Tony had spoken to the sculptor, who had known his dad from the local Celtic supporters’ bus. He gave him all the details required for the face of the gravestone and joked, ‘my ma has banned any mention of fitbaw on the front of the gravestone. A pity but I guess we need to honour her wishes.’ The grey-haired sculptor had nodded, ‘aye, yer old man loved the Celtic alright but I guess we need to do what yer mother wants.’ Tony met his gaze, ‘aye, we’ll do what she wants.’ The older man looked at him, the puzzled look on his face.

Tony had told his mother that the gravestone was in place and her wishes had been respected. She looked at him through narrowed eyes, ‘he never left a will but he told me what he wanted you tae get. Anything daft on that gravestone and you can whistle for it till I pop ma clogs!’ Tony nodded, ‘I telt ye ma, nothing fitbaw related will be oan the face of the gravestone. Just the basic details of my da, like ye asked.’ She looked at him suspiciously, ‘I’m coming wi ye tae the graveyard. I want tae see for myself.’

Tony and Mags Heenan stood by the grave of Ants Heenan as a slow drizzle dripped from a leaden sky. She nodded as she read the gold embossed letters on the front of the gravestone. ‘Anthony John Heenan 1957-2024. Beloved Husband, Father and Grandfather.’  ‘Aye, that’s good, son. Ye were as good as your word.’ A robin landed on top of the gravestone as they watched. Tony smiled slightly, remembering stories from his childhood linking robins to angels. His mother broke into his thoughts, ‘I’ll head back tae the car son, if you want to say a wee prayer. I’ll see you there.’

Tony stood by his father’s grave and spoke quietly to him. ‘I thought it best not to annoy her, da. So, I put the words on your stone she wanted. I’m going tae miss going tae Celtic Park wi you, but wee Aidan is showing an interest now so I’ll bring him up the right way.’ He walked a few steps behind his father’s gravestone and looked at the reverse side of it. On it were carved four words which seemed very fitting. ‘I told her, nothing on the front, but I never promised there’d be nothing on the back. Hopefully she won’t notice.’ 

He smiled a bitter-sweet smile, a tear forming in his eye, ‘see ye in better place da. Hail Hail.’