Andy’s old navy blue checked suit had hung in his wardrobe in a black plastic suit carrier for the best part of fourteen years.

“Isn’t it about time you got rid of that old suit?” Angie enquired as she piled her unloved, dated tops and skirts on the bed.

“I can’t throw that out. It holds far too many memories for me,” Andy replied.

As he continued to sort through his wardrobe, his thoughts drifted back to the day when he was tailor-measured for his beloved suit. He had saved up over the previous year in anticipation of getting himself a made-to-measure, top-notch suit. He knew exactly how it should be, single-breasted, slightly wider than average lapels, no back vents, four buttons on each cuff, just one button fastening at the front, narrow legs but not too narrow that the bottoms would ride over his Chelsea boots, a zip fly and no belt loops.

He had gone into town with his suit vision firmly in his mind and come what may he was determined to choose a suitable cloth, at a local tailor recommended to him by his dad.

The tailoring shop had been in the same family for the past three generations and was now run by Mr Philips, the grandson f the original tailor. Andy made his way to the central island and looked through swatch after swatch of cloth samples but was overwhelmed by the vast range on offer.

“Perhaps I can help you narrow it down?” asked the tailor Mr Philips, “it can be a little daunting unless you have something specific in mind.”

Andy explained that he had always wanted a made-to-measure suit as off the peg never fitted properly as he was tall, skinny and with extra long arms. It always irritated him that whenever he bent his elbows or reached out, the sleeves would ride halfway up his forearm and get stuck on his shirt requiring him to pull them down to his wrist again. He told Mr Philips of his vision for the suit and that he wanted to wear it for major family events, maybe for nights out, should the venue be appropriate and possibly the odd wedding as most of his mates were either engaged or planning on getting married in the next few years. Andy suggested that it should look smart, not crease too easily, and that it had to be versatile.

“My Dad always swears by wool.”

Mr Philips suggested that although wool was hard wearing, it could be a little prickly unless you went for high quality, also that it tended to be more traditional whereas garments made of mohair can be more youthful, crease and stretch resistant and, suitable for all seasons.

Mr Philips rummaged under the counter and pulled out two books of Mohair swatches. “Here, have a look through these, I am sure you will find something you like.”

Andy liked the feel and look of the Mohair, and after shortlisting three samples plumped for a dark blue with a mid-grey check pattern and a not-too-shiny finish.

Mr Phillips whipped the tape measure from around his neck and proceeded to take measurement after measurement, each time making copious notes in his dark green ledger.

Andy’s thoughts came back to the job in hand and he continued making difficult decisions on what he should throw and what he should keep.

The pile of clothes on Angie’s side of the bed grew and grew whilst Andy sifted through rail after rail of shirts, trousers and jackets. Each garment held memories for him and although many would no longer fit he lived in hope that one day he would be able to wear them again after he had lost a bit of weight and got back into his daily fitness regime, something he hadn’t managed to do for a long time. Good intentions were usually met with poor excuses.

“Oh for goodness’ sake Andy, you cannot hang on to everything, your wardrobe and drawers are bursting at the seams and given the fact that you are never going to get back into them, it makes sense that someone else gets to benefit from them.” Angie was determined to declutter and ever since watching numerous videos of the queen of decluttering on YouTube, she had managed to sort out the spare room, the utility room, the garden shed and her half of the home office.

Andy reluctantly added a couple of waistcoats, three pairs of chino trousers, a pair of cargo pants, six shirts that he couldn’t button, and a couple of tatty jumpers and t-shirts to the pile.

He had at least four other suits in his wardrobe that were currently in use. One for weddings and Christenings, one for job interviews, one for funerals and one that was a bit too flashy for most events but which he held on to just in case his office recommenced their works Christmas do which had not happened since Covid. He deliberated again about his Mohair suit and smiled as he remembered the great nights out he had with the lads and how he went through a stage, convinced it helped him pull the birds… His suit had appeared at engagement parties, his Mum and Dad’s wedding anniversary party, his Gran’s 80th, several job interviews, appointments with the bank manager and many other occasions where he needed to show a more serious and mature side. Throughout the years, that suit had proven useful to him, and as time passed, it became increasingly tight and strained. Although it maintained its elegant appearance, he decided to put it away and store it in its assigned spot in the wardrobe, moving it to three different locations as his life and circumstances evolved.

After being harangued for what seemed like hours, Andy, with mild trepidation, added the Mohair suit to the pile. He explained to Angie that it was a strange feeling, like saying goodbye to an old friend he was never going to see again or letting go of a huge part of his adult life, a sense of betrayal and loss…

“Oh grow up Andy,” Angie bellowed, “it’s a bloody old Mohair suit not your pet gerbil Gary from when you were twelve.”

The task completed, the next day, Angie loaded the bags into the car and dropped them off at the nearest charity shop.

***

Barbara worked at the Salvation Army Charity shop on the high street and took great pride in her work, ensuring every donated item presented well. Barbara searched the pockets, but apart from a few years of accumulated fluff and remnants of a party popper, she found them empty and in good order. With much gusto, she steamed the Mohair suit within an inch of its life and hung it up on a rail for it to dry off. She attached a sales ticket to the loop at the neck of the jacket, ready to be displayed in the shop the next day.

“That won’t hang around for long,” said Val as she dragged another black bin bag onto the sorting table. “It’s a lovely suit and so smart. I bet that cost a pretty penny,” added Barbara.

The next day, she put the Mohair suit on the rail along with other suits and men’s formal wear. There was an array of garments, some in better condition than others, in colours from black to beige and each one having a story or stories to tell.

The Mohair suit, true to form, garnered admiration from many, but it hung around for a couple of days because of its slim and long size.

Marcus wandered around the store and examined the vast choice on display. He was drawn to the blue mohair suit and aided and encouraged by his mum, he tried it on. It fit, more or less and without hesitation he made the purchase.

Marcus was soon to graduate after three years of studying computer science at University. It was a big event for Marcus and his mum as he was the first ever in the family to have ever gone to university and get a degree. It had been a struggle, as the child of a single Mum, Marcus had not always had the same opportunities as some of his friends but his Mum had done a brilliant job of raising him single-handed, on a minimum wage and in not-so-good rented accommodation. They had both overcome adversity most could not imagine and not only survived but flourished. It was something to be proud of. The icing on the cake was, of course, Marcus successfully completing his degree and graduating, a day they were both excited about.

The big day arrived, and Marcus and his mum readied themselves in their new outfits. Marcus put his tie under the collar of a crisp white shirt and tied it in a magnificent Windsor knot, as his grandfather had shown him to do. He slipped on the fine mohair trousers and jacket. Marcus completed his look with a pair of highly polished brogue shoes. He looked the part and was ready to take on the world. His Mum tapped on his bedroom door.

“Are you decent?” Mum asked.

“Yes, of course, come in,” replied Marcus.

Mum’s eyes welled up as she saw how smart and grown-up he was. The first tears of many that day. The mohair suit looked splendid with sharp creases down the front of each leg and just enough length to rest on Marcus’ dark brown brogues.

The graduation ceremony went well and many people took photographs. Mortar boards flew high in the air, champagne flowed and students hugged fellow students and embraced family and lecturers.

Marcus wore his mohair suit regularly over the next few years, and with each outing, it became more relaxed and lived-in. The trousers had become a little tighter and the material shinier in parts and had hidden repair to the jacket pocket because of a rather raucous night out in Manchester.

Marcus pursued a career in law and lived most days in smart suits, crisp white shirts and silk ties. Marcus relegated the mohair suit to the spare bedroom wardrobe and eventually put it in a black bin bag, destined for a local jumble sale.

* * *

Mrs Franks sat at her desk and scanned the day’s emails and messages. There was no funeral planned for today, but preparations for Mr Harold Piper’s interment on Friday were going well with only the service sheets to be delivered from the printer and Mr Piper’s body to be dressed and readied for viewings on Thursday. Mrs Franks checked Mr Piper’s file and ticked off the completed tasks.

“John, John,” shouted Mrs Franks from behind her screen. “Can you and Billy prepare Mr Piper for the Chapel of Rest? There’s a bag of clothes his daughter brought in, just by the door.”

John and Billy had been waxing and polishing the Hearse and were taking five minutes in the courtyard to have a smoke and a vape.

“Is this your first time Billy?” asked John. Billy took a large inhale of his vape, “sure is, and I’m not looking forward to it,” Billy exhaled…

The Chapel of Rest had a small preparation room where the staff brought the deceased from the mortuary fridge and prepared them for viewing if the relatives requested. It was only a few degrees warmer than the fridges for understandable reasons and sparsely equipped, apart from towels, items to wash and prepare the body, some basic makeup, a checklist and a small poster on the wall. The poster read:

“On this point, we could agree. The bones of the fallen should be treated with respect and accorded the dignity that was their proper due. If only the living were also granted such grace, what a wonder our world could become.” 

― Daniel Thorman

Franks funeral directors had built up an excellent reputation throughout the community and they had remained an independent business despite several takeover bids by larger corporations. Mrs Franks had inherited the business from her father and vowed to retain its high quality and respectful service.

John and Billy retrieved Mr Piper from the mortuary and began the careful process of washing the body and ensuring he looked at peace.

John removed the clothing from the bag he had collected from the office and took out undergarments and the dark blue mohair suit.

Mr Piper had not owned a suit since retiring from work but had always stressed to his daughter that when he’d gone, he wanted to be buried in a smart suit and black, comfortable shoes. Some months earlier, Mr. Piper had bought the suit from the local church jumble sale. Mr Piper had spotted it whilst rummaging through a couple of piles of clothing. He spotted the suit and after a quick check for size; he paid his five pounds and went on his way content in the knowledge that his last appearance on earth would be in a smart, dark blue with grey check mohair suit.

The suit was on its final journey. It had served a multitude of purposes through its long life and serviced its wearers well. The suit had accompanied its wearers to weddings, job interviews, nights out, graduation ceremonies, family parties, business meetings and funerals.

The stories will remain, and their legacy and relevance will be remembered whether their final destination is burial or flames, as long as the stories are retold, photographs are held, and memories are rekindled.

“That’s a nice suit,” stated Billy. “it seems a shame for it to go to waste.”

“Not at all Billy,” John adjusted the jacket and trousers, pinning them into place so that Mr Piper looked at his best. “Appearances are important and leave a lasting impression. Clothes maketh the man. Vestis virum facit.” Billy raised his eyebrows, not fully appreciating the sentiment behind John’s words. 

“There you go Mr Piper, looking smart and dapper,” proclaimed John. 

“He sure does, he sure does,” muttered Billy.