“During the last year we have shared in such growing sorrow, as we have watched the struggle of an eager and hopeful spirit against increasing physical pain and weakness. We have hoped against hope, for the spirit was still so willing, but the foreboding was always there, and in the last dark days of the old year the end came, irrevocably and, as it seemed, almost suddenly. No more alternations, no more struggles; all was over.
“What an oppression of loss and pain seemed to brood over us as we waited through that dark winter’s morning in the dim church full of mourning figures! Crowds of people witnessed to the wide-reaching influence of the life of which we were thinking. The solemn dignity of the occasion, as we caught a glimpse of one and then of another who had come, each from his or her important place and work, to take a part in this last ceremony of respect, recalled the importance of the life-work now over. Especially did the sight of such a veteran of the struggle as Miss Emily Davies bring to mind touching memories of the fight for an ideal waged in the beginning against great odds. Such had been this our leader—an important force in the world, a mind of originating insight, who had modified her age for good. But now all was over. We had had the privilege of being with her, but we should have it no more. Our lives for the future were to be poorer and smaller.
“The tolling bell seemed to beat out such thoughts as we waited. But these more general regrets are changed to the acuter stab of personal grief, as the coffin is carried in and passes us close. It is to this that the loved presence has come, and even this is for the last time. A hundred personal details come back—her dress, her favourite colours, her smile, the sound of her voice. Thus and thus we knew her—and shall know her no more.
“‘The best is yet to be.’ We believe it, but we loved her as she was.
“It is hard to control our voices, but we are still her army. It behoves us to show that we can respond to the word of command, and so we take our part in the service, and all goes on in its appointed order to the end. The coffin is carried out, and we disperse on our further journey, sad and dreary, down to Theydon Bois. Our minds are filled by thoughts of the past and of the future. To many of us the best part of our lives is associated with her. To how many has she not been a generous and inspiring friend, who brought out all our best by her very belief in it? How are we to go on without her? And how drearily ashamed we feel of our worst, which we can never now amend before her.
“It pleased God to let our final farewell be very beautiful. The churchyard at Theydon lies on the slope of a hill, and the grave is at the northern side of the low, red brick, country church. The short winter day was drawing to its close already, and the western sky was glowing with glorious red and gold. The procession was marshalled in the road below, and the white-robed clergy came down to meet us from out of the sunset light, as it seemed. Our hymns of rest and triumph felt right and fitting then, as we thought of her and not of ourselves. She had fought a good fight, and had finished her course. The country fields lay bare about us, and the branches of the trees, interlacing themselves between us and the evening sky, were leafless. But everything was touched with a most tender and beautiful light, as large, soft snow-flakes floated gently down on the violets and white spring flowers with which we covered her. And so we left her.”
“‘The souls of the righteous are in the hand of God, and there shall no torment touch them;
In the sight of the unwise they seemed to die, and their departure is taken for misery,
And their going from us to be utter destruction. But they are in peace,
For though they be punished in the sight of men, yet is their hope full of immortality.’”