Unlocking the Past

by Grace Thompson

  “Unpleasant and ugly,” she went on in her monotonous voice. “That was how he was and always had been. Neither you nor I could have changed him, no matter how we tried. We’d have been hurt, and perhaps we’d have hurt our families too. We were right to leave him be.”

  Marion spoke without compassion and she seemed to Janet to lack all humour, as her small attempts to raise a smile were ignored.

  They had arranged for Adrian to be buried in the churchyard near the farm, and the branch of the family hitherto unknown to Janet, that had begun with Marion, were coming to the cottage for the interment. Marion’s sons, Fred and Harold were there with their families and her adopted daughter, Elenor.

  On the day of the funeral, all these strangers filed into the small house and nodded in an uninterested way before sitting down; the men with their flat caps on their knees, the women with hands in their laps, folded, palms up.

  Such a houseful. People from all over the town of Pendragon Island, many who hardly knew of the existence of Janet’s brother, walking across the fields, sure of a welcome. Marion’s family were all neatly dressed but showed a distinct and unmistakable lack of money. For Marion and her family, life had obviously been far from kind. Looking at the bunch of her younger generation, Janet was proud of the way her sons and daughter looked.

  Ernie had been persuaded by Helen to buy a new suit which he assured everyone would do for hatches, matches and dispatches for at least ten years. Barry and Caroline came in smiling in pretence of being a couple, and were dressed in best clothes, and had even bought Joseph a suit as a mark of respect for the man only three people there had ever known. Basil and Frank looked as though they were employed as official mourners so experienced were they in following funerals for a small fee and setting the solemn tone.

  At the cemetery the grave-digger carried his tools to Adrian’s grave in preparation for filling it in. He was cursing his assistant, who hadn’t dug the plot deep enough. Now he’d have to sort that out before filling in, or there’d be hell to pay. Afternoon burials were a real bind, and he muttered to himself as he made his preparations. There was to be another burial early the following day, so he had to get this one looking tidy so as not to upset tomorrow’s mourners. Tomorrow’s was a second burial, a widower to be buried with his wife. He checked his plan briefly and began. With the help of his assistant he hauled the coffin to the surface to dig deeper as instructed.

  Leaving the coffin covered with a tarpaulin and flowers, he decided that there was time for a pint before tackling the task and he dug his spade into the earth to leave it standing upright and walked off. The spade wavered a while then fell with a spurt of earth, to land between Adrian’s plot and the next.

  The grave-digger walked across the churchyard and out of the gate, the thought of a beer increasing his speed, and was hit by the car carrying a family bringing flowers to a deceased loved one. He was taken to the accident hospital for treatment, so it was his assistant who later went up to finish what the man had begun.

  * * *

  At the Griffithses’ cottage, more and more people arrived, muttered their condolences, and their congratulations on the inheritance. They were introduced to Marion and offered food and drink. The sawn-off tree-trunks were brought into use again, as well as boxes and bins to seat them all. Marion and her sons and daughters were bemused by it all.

  Lewis came with Nia, and sat beside his estranged wife, Dora, without any obvious signs of anger. In fact, Dora and Lewis talked easily and seemed more like friends than the combatants of a bitter separation.

  After the pain of Lewis’s betrayal of her with Nia who had once been her friend, Dora had learned to accept the situation, although she still felt the agony of loving someone who had spurned her. She was, if not content, well pleased with the way her life was developing.

  Marion and her family remained formal and left early. For the rest, the gathering didn’t disperse until about two in the morning. The lively chatter had reached a peak and subsided and all those present were sated with news of people they didn’t know, passed on by those whom they rarely met. The occasion had gone through the usual phases of uncomfortable shuffling and over-politeness, with the unfamiliar mix of people hardly known to each other, and the uncertainty of how to behave, and on through the relaxation of becoming friends, until the party spirit was reached and everyone had a good time.

  When the last of the mourners left, laughing and joking in the way of many funerals, Ernie and Frank went to stand outside in the cool of the night, too hyped-up to think of sleep. The finality of death had made them both consider their disagreement and reminded them how easy it would be for their separation to continue into the years ahead.

  There was a full moon and together they made their way to the cemetery, not with any goal in mind but with the casual wandering that had often taken them to places unplanned. The open grave looked eerie in the moonlight and they went closer, daring each other to lean over and see whether the coffin was visible or if the grave had been filled. To their surprise the grave appeared empty.

  “Someone’s stolen the old bugger,” Frank muttered.

  The grave next to that which they had been told was intended for their uncle, was filled, the earth left loose and rather untidy. Frank reached across to try and see the label on one of the wreaths and his foot sank into the soft earth. He gave a yell and they both decided to leave the churchyard to its ghosts and go home to bed. But they were still puzzled by the fact that the wrong grave appeared to have been filled.

  * * *

  The following day they were still unsatisfied and they went once again to the cemetery. The funeral at the grave next to Adrian’s was of a Mr Gareth Pryce-Yeoman, and would take place at eleven that morning, so Ernie and Frank attended and stood beside the grave with the rest of the mourners. When the service was over they asked the grave digger’s assistant where they could find information on the graves and the allotment of them.

  Enquiries told them that the grave they had just seen filled with the widower was in fact the wrong one. His predeceased wife was buried in the one alongside. Their uncle had been buried in the grave intended for Mr Pryce-Yeoman.

  “Something will have to be done!” Frank gasped. But although they gave the facts to as many people who would listen, it seemed impossible for the wrong to be put right. No one believed them. The two graves, in a row of seven recent interments, appeared to be correct, as set out in the reference books. So far as everyone associated with the church and its cemetery were concerned, the burials had been carried out as planned. The flowers decorated the correct grave, the labels and numbers all tallied. Their uncle was apparently buried in the correct grave and Mr Pryce-Yeoman was sharing his final abode with his wife.

  Frank and Ernie were so incensed by this treatment of an uncle they had never known, their damaged friendship was instantly repaired. Even Janet and Hywel were unconvinced that a mistake had been made.

  The relations of Pryce-Yeoman were also unconvinced and politely, if a little anxiously, said they were only too glad to trust the efficiency of the service, and advised them to forget it. The complications that such a puzzle entailed were alarming and they insisted that everything was sure to be exactly as it should be. Only Frank and Ernie refused to accept it.

  “That grave was empty!” they insisted.

  “Drunk you were, mind,” Hywel pointed out. “I bet you couldn’t remember which one it is even now, if we took the flowers away.”

  “I would,” Frank insisted and Ernie echoed his assurance, insisting that he’d be blowed if he’d been too drunk to make a mistake like that.

  * * *

  The farm was for sale and a buyer had already made moves towards taking it over before the funeral had taken place. In fact the animals were being cared for by him and it seemed that the sale would go through with little delay. The solicitor sent for the two sisters and told them that when the farm was sold and outstanding debts paid, they could expect a sum o
f around nine hundred pounds each. They looked at each other when the solicitor told them this, each feeling pleasure that was mixed with guilt.

  “How can we accept so much money from a brother we disliked and never saw?” Janet said.

  “If you don’t it will go into the coffers of the government and it’s hardly enough to affect the National Debt, is it?” the man smiled. “These things happen so rarely in life I advise you both to take the money and enjoy it. It could change much of what you dislike in your lives without ruining the things you enjoy.”

  “I live in two little rooms, and with Henry and Fred and Elenor so busy with their own lives, I get a bit lonely,” Marion said. “Perhaps I could buy a house in Pendragon Island and share some time with you?” she said to Janet.

  “From what you’ve told me, you two have a lot to catch up on, so if it’s what you both want, I think it a splendid plan.” He wished them both well and promised to help them in the future should the need arise and they went out of his office feeling dazed.

  Janet and Hywel’s first idea was to share the money between their children.

  “After all, we have all we want and they’re just starting off,” Janet said. But when they mentioned it to the family there was a loud chorus of protest.

  “You and Dad should have some fun with it,” Basil said. The others agreed but Hywel looked around at his family and shook his head.

  “Fun we have in plenty with you lot!”

  “A holiday then?” The ideas flew for days but as nothing they suggested appealed to Hywel or Janet all thought of the importance of Adrian’s money faded.

  * * *

  Frank and Ernie finally convinced Basil that their uncle was buried in the wrong grave and as time passed their determination to put the matter right increased.

  “We can’t have an uncle lying on top of Mrs Pryce Yeoman for ever and ever, Amen, can we?” Frank shouted one day. “It isn’t decent!”

  “Put like that, I have to agree,” Basil said with a grin. “All right, but what d’you suggest? You’ve told everyone we can think of and no one believes you.”

  “Swop them over ourselves, that’s what,” Frank said.

  Without allowing too much time to pass, believing that time might persuade Basil they were wrong, Frank and Ernie arranged to go to the cemetery with spades and shovels that night. Being a Saturday, Basil was in the habit of calling at The Railwayman’s for a drink with his friends. So he did the same as usual, only he had taken the precaution of snaring a dozen or so rabbits first. As long as they weren’t caught in the churchyard actually in the act of desecrating the graves, they would be able to justify their late night walk.

  Viv was in The Railwayman’s on one of his now rare visits, preferring, as he did, to go out with Joan. He was sitting with Jack as the brothers walked in. Viv and Jack guessed at once that the Griffithses were up to something.

  “Tell me or I’ll call the cops,” Viv warned and Jack repeated his threat.

  “It would be handy to have a few extra hands,” Ernie said hopefully.

  Thinking of all that heavy digging, Frank agreed.

  They left the pub at intervals, Jack going home to warn Victoria he would be late and to pick up a spade. Viv running home to tell Joan.

  But unlike Victoria, who was content to wait until Jack decided to explain, Joan insisted on being told exactly what was going on.

  “I’m going with you,” she said when she had been told. And when Viv argued she threatened to telephone the police.

  “That’s what I threatened,” he grumbled. “And now I’m involved in an illegal act.”

  “I’ll be your lookout, I bet none of you thought of that! I’m coming to make sure the lot of you don’t end up in prison!” Joan wore her most determined expression and Viv knew it was useless to argue further as she reached for her coat.

  Basil undid the door of the churchyard maintenance shed half-hidden by the prickly remains of last summer’s roses, and took out a large rubber sheet which they placed beside the grave to hold the excavated earth. They emptied the two graves without much effort, there having been little time for the earth to become compacted. Joan shut her eyes tightly as the coffins were exchanged. But she listened to the comments and was relieved to hear them agree that Frank and Ernie had been right and the graves had contained the wrong bodies.

  They had achieved the job so far with very little noise and it was only when confidence grew and Frank and Ernie began to noisily scrape their tools to reduce the amount of mud sticking to them as they filled the last inches, that the tramp, who had been sleeping behind one of the ancient mounds, woke and looked across to see what had disturbed him. Then, on silent feet he ran to the phone box and dialled 999 and sat back to watch the fun.

  * * *

  When they heard the sound of a car approaching, the five gathered their tools and ran, Viv grabbing Joan’s arm and hurrying her along, heading for the shelter of a wood. Once there they whispered together and decided that they should cross the fields belonging to Farmer Booker and if possible, rouse him and make sure they were seen. It would give them an alibi of sorts.

  Walking close to the farm house and disturbing the dogs was simple enough and when Booker came out with a shotgun in his hands, Basil, Frank and Ernie made sure they were seen and recognised.

  When Janet heard that her sons were under arrest for poaching she looked at Hywel and gave a sigh. “And there’s us wondering how to spend Adrian’s money!” she sighed. “We need to keep it for paying our sons’ fines!”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Rose Tree Café was a popular place for women to meet after their shopping, for a coffee and a chat with friends. By extending the range of food offered, Sian Weston and Dora Lewis had developed a lunchtime trade that attracted more and more men. Businessmen, reps mostly, would call, sure of a reasonably priced, well-cooked meal.

  “When the women go home, the men come in,” Sian smiled. “The business is as sexually divided as parties are, women in one group the men in another.”

  “And the men have the best stories!” Dora sighed.

  It was eleven in the morning when Jimmy Herbert called in. He looked at the crowded room and, realising the occupants were all women, he hesitated, then began to retreat.

  “It’s all right, Jimmy,” Dora called, “come through to the kitchen and I’ll find you a cuppa.”

  Between serving, Dora chatted to him, guessing he had come to ask about Rhiannon. “I didn’t see you at the Griffithses at the weekend,” she said. “Didn’t you get an invite?”

  “Yes, but I thought I’d better stay away. I asked Rhiannon but she was going with Charlie.”

  “Don’t give up on her, Jimmy,” she advised.

  “Charlie has her sympathy. He’s a whipped dog, isn’t he? Her interest might be short-lived. Once he’s on his feet and secure and no longer needing her help, he might lose his appeal.”

  Sian’s twin sister, Sally, came as Jimmy was leaving. The café began to empty and she came into the kitchen where Dora was setting out the lunchtime menu and declared she was exhausted.

  “Ryan does nothing to help and it’s a full-time job looking after house-guests,” she complained.

  “Kick him out,” Dora muttered.

  “Mother was very upset about Jack’s Gretna Green wedding, Sian,” Sally said. “What can I do to cheer her up? I do think you should have stopped them running away like that.”

  “How could I? I didn’t know any more than anyone else.”

  “Victoria’s mother knew.”

  “Well she didn’t tell me! Now, if you aren’t going to help, can you move out of the way, Sally? Dora and I have about half an hour before the rush.”

  “You couldn’t let me have half a dozen pasties could you? I’m stuck for supper for my paying guests and I want to have my hair done.”

  As Sian began to collect six pasties, Dora said, “No, we can’t, Sally. Sorry, but I spent two hours last night after a day
working here, to make them.”

  Sally looked put out and turned to her sister for support.

  “Sorry, Sally, Dora’s right, time is money.”

  “Then don’t let me take any more of it!” Sally picked up her coat and rushed out.

  “Sorry, Sian. I should have put that more diplomatically.”

  “My fault. I didn’t think. Your time is as valuable as hers.”

  Their next visitor was Lewis. In her forthright way, Dora said, “If it’s lunch you want it’ll be half an hour yet.”

  “No, I haven’t come for lunch, although a cup of tea would be welcome. It’s about Rhiannon.”

  “She’s all right, isn’t she?” Dora frowned. “Nothing’s happened?”

  “If you call being seen with Charlie Bevan and that son of his all right, then she is!” he snapped.

  “Oh, go away, Lewis. So far in the last hour we’ve had Jimmy flopping about in lovelorn despair, Sally telling us how hard she works and how hard done-by she is, and now you. We’re trying to run a café, not a problem page!”

  Lewis put down the tea Sian had handed him and left.

  Dora gave a deep sigh. “Who next?” she asked, hands on hips. “Because whoever it is, while we’re sorting out their problems I’ll set them to wash these pots!”

  * * *

  Getting to know Marion and her children was fun for Janet, at first. She quickly realised they were going to prove difficult to integrate, for, try as she might, the new members of her family were reticent, afraid to relax and join in the lively gatherings. There was also a hint of disapproval which she tried to ignore. Elenor, Marion’s adopted child, was unmarried and had worked as a live-in housekeeper for several years, content to own little more than most children possessed, in a tiny room with a lavatory and wash-basin close by.