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Not far from the Minster where I am based, a temporary fairground has been set up, all overwhelming noise and flashing neon colours. Sitting in the chapel this morning, stilling myself in preparation to meet the widow and elder son of the congregation member whose funeral will take place on Friday, I am dazzled by the radiance of the low December sun. It is surer of itself and more stunning than the distractions of the fair. And in this space, all laden air and roaring silence, I become aware of the great cloud of witnesses who have gone ahead of us—more dazzling still.