Archie arrived at the undertaker’s door one day with a large bottle of whisky.

“That’s for you Bill,” he said. “You did a great funeral for me the other day, and I know it couldn’t have been easy.”

The two had been friends since childhood, but the past week had put a severe strain on the 50 year relationship.

“Nor was it easy on the minister Archie. I hope he got a bottle just as big,” Bill replied dryly after a while.

“Oh but sure he’s tea total Bill, he’s a man of the cloth.”

The funeral had certainly been a challenge for both minister and the undertaker alike; neither had participated in such a bizarre event in their lives.

It had been Archie’s funeral; yes that same Archie who arrived a few days later with that large bottle of whisky for Bill. He’d drunk rather a lot of whisky himself over the years and had smoked incessantly. He never took any exercise and ate like a very undiscerning pig. All the neglect and overindulgence had left him at death’s door where he had waited for many years like a nervous teenager lingering outside a pub while still under age, afraid to go in. At last, under protest, he had succumbed, and in hospital his left leg had to be amputated to save his life.

The very next day Bill had been to visit his friend in the hospital. He was in pain and understandably despondent, and when eventually Bill got up to leave Archie asked a question that Bill thought at first he had misheard.

“Would you bury it for me Bill?” he asked imploringly.

“Oh you’ll be around for a while yet Archie,” Bill said with a knowing laugh.

“No, not me – it,” Archie explained. “My leg, will you bury my leg?”

Bill had thought he had heard everything there was to hear in his business, but this really threw him. He had buried close friends before, but never anyone’s leg. Hospitals usually took care of such things themselves. But Archie was insistent, and how could Bill refuse.

The day arrived. The leg had been kept frozen in the hospital until Archie was able to go home, and the next day was the day of the “funeral” and it was a truly odd occasion.

Archie had insisted on a full coffin, explaining that when the time came for the rest of his body to die, he wanted to be reunited with the leg. The minister spent some time trying to think about what to say at such an event, and wondered long and hard about what tone to strike. Was this an occasion for grief and mourning or what? And what role was Archie going to play? Mourner or deceased? He played both, and so well too.

He arrived at the Church on crutches of course, hobbling along and enjoying the confused and often incoherent comments of friends. They didn’t know what to say, but most fell back on the old favourite: “Sorry for your loss Archie.” They didn’t know what to say to his wife who had really lost nobody but was still there at the funeral of part of her husband.

Hymns, prayers, even a eulogy, but the most odious part for Bill was that he had to dress the deceased leg in a sock and shoe, the matching sock and shoe being worn proudly on Archie’s good, living, healthy leg.