The service was marked by severe simplicity that savoured nothing of exultation over a fallen foe; and yet there was the beautiful exultation that belongs essentially to the Church of England Order for the Burial of the Dead, which proceeded with tense emotion until the congregation and choir united in singing 'Abide with me.' The Dean pronounced the blessing.
The Dead March from Saul was played with all the poignant appeal of rolling and booming drums, wailing reeds, and the triumphant clangour of brass. The 'Last Post,' heralded by a roll of drums, commencing so softly as scarcely to be audible, swelled to a roar before it died into the silence, on which broke the bugles; and last the 'Réveillé.'
Out of the shadows of the centuries into the sunlit street the flower-decked coffin was borne by the eight Guardsmen bearers to be replaced on the gun-carriage, which passed through the crowded City to Liverpool Street Station, en route for Norwich, and every yard of the way there was evidence that the spirit of Edith Cavell was living in the throngs who mourned her loss, even as they honoured her sacrifice.
Later in the day came the final scenes in the obsequies of Edith Cavell at Norwich Cathedral, where the ashes of the world-famous victim of an unchivalrous foe had come home for sepulture in an atmosphere of intimate and almost personal concern. The citizens turned out in tens of thousands. Every department of the civic life of the county was represented, but again the nurses were in the forefront of the picture. Wreaths came from near and far, and among not a few from Belgium was one inscribed 'Elizabeth, Reine des Belges.'
The tribute of Empire had already been paid in London, and the closing ceremony was more in keeping with the sweet simplicity of her who was being laid to rest by the side of her mother amid the peaceful and mellow surroundings of the ancient Close, in a sequestered little corner called 'Life's Green.'
At the graveside the Bishop of Norwich delivered a touching address, in which he dwelt more upon the manner of Nurse Cavell's death rather than the work of her life. In conclusion he said:
'Edith Cavell rests under the shade of our cathedral in its eight-hundredth year, adding one more to the long line of those blessed saints of God over whom it has watched in life and death. We will think of her while her body rests in its keeping as herself alive unto God and present with the Lord, and we will look on to the glad day when she and we and all we love, having waited and watched for the glory of the Resurrection, at last shall see
The splendour of the morning
Dawn on the hills.'