“Burned?” Maude looked a bit shocked.
“Cremated is the word, actually,” I said. “There’s nothing wrong with it. In a way it’s less frightening than being buried. Much quicker, at least. It’s becoming a little more popular now. Perhaps I’d like to be cremated.” I threw out the last comment rather flippantly, as I had never really considered it before. But now, staring at the urn in one of the cubbyholes, it began to appeal-though I should not want my ashes placed in an urn. Rather they be scattered somewhere, to help the flowers grow.
“Rubbish!” Mrs. Coleman interrupted. “And it’s entirely inappropriate for a girl of Maude’s age to be told about such things.” Having said that, however, she couldn’t resist continuing. “Besides, it’s unChristian and illegal. I wonder if it is even legal to build such a thing”-she waved at the columbarium-“if it encourages criminal activity.”
As she was speaking a man came trotting down the steps next to the columbarium that led from the upper to the lower level of the circle. He stopped abruptly when he heard her. “Pardon me, madam,” he said, bowing to Mrs. Coleman, “I couldn’t help overhearing your comment. Indeed, cremation is not illegal. It has never been illegal in England-it’s simply been disapproved of by society, and so it has not been carried out. But there have been crematoria for many years-the first was built at Woking in 1885.”
“Who are you?” Mrs. Coleman demanded. “And what business is it of yours what I say?”
“Pardon me, madam,” the man repeated with another bow. “I am Mr. Jackson, the superintendent of the cemetery. I simply wished to set you straight on the facts of cremation because I wanted to reassure you that there is nothing illegal about the columbarium. The Cremation Act passed two years ago regulates the procedures and practice throughout all of Britain. The cemetery is simply responding to the public’s demand, and reflecting public opinion on the matter.”
“You are certainly not reflecting my opinion on the matter, young man,” Mrs. Coleman huffed, “and I am a grave owner here-have been for almost fifty years.”
I smiled at her idea of a young man-he looked to be forty at least, with gray hairs in his rather bushy moustache. He was quite tall, and wore a dark suit with a bowler hat. If he had not introduced himself I would have thought he was a mourner. I had probably seen him before, but could not remember him.
“I am not saying that cremation should never be practiced,” Mrs. Coleman went on. “For non-Christians it can be an option. The Hindu and the Jew. Atheists and suicides. Those sorts who don’t care about their souls. But I am truly shocked to see such a thing sited on consecrated ground. It should have been placed in the Dissenters’ section, where the ground is not blessed. Here it is an offense to Christianity.”
“Those whose remains lie in the columbarium were certainly Christian, madam,” Mr. Jackson said.
“But what about reassembly? How can the body and soul be reunited on the Day of Resurrection if the body has been…” Mrs. Coleman did not complete her sentence, but waved a hand at the cubicles.
“Burnt to a crisp,” Maude finished for her. I stifled a giggle.
Rather than wilting under her onslaught, Mr. Jackson seemed to grow from it. He stood quite calmly, hands clasped behind his back, as if he were discussing a mathematical equation rather than a sticky question of theology. Maude and I, and the Waterhouses-Lavinia having recovered by this time-all stared at him, waiting for him to speak.
“Surely there is no difference between the decomposed remains of a buried body and the ashes of a burnt one,” he said.
“There is all the difference!” Mrs. Coleman sputtered. “But this is a most distasteful argument, especially in front of our girls here, one of whom has just recovered from a fit.”
Mr. Jackson looked around as if he were just seeing the rest of us. “My apologies, ladies.” He bowed (again). “I did not mean to offend.” But then he did not leave the argument, as Mrs. Coleman clearly wanted him to. “I would simply say that God is capable of all things, and nothing we do with our remains will stop Him if He wishes to reunite our souls with our bodies.”
There was a little silence then, punctuated by a tiny gasp from Gertrude Waterhouse. The implication behind his words-that with her argument Mrs. Coleman might be doubting the power of God Himself-was not lost on her. Nor on Mrs. Coleman, who, for the first time since I have known her, seemed at a loss for words. It was not a long moment, of course, but it was an immensely satisfying one.
“Young man,” Mrs. Coleman said finally, “if God wanted us to burn our dead He would have said so in the Bible. Come, Maude,” she said, turning her back on him, “it is time we paid a visit to our grave.”
As she led away a reluctant Maude, Mr. Jackson glanced at me and I smiled at him. He bowed for the fourth time, muttered something about having a great deal to do, and rushed off, quite red in the face.
Well, I thought. Well.
Lavinia Waterhouse
I didn’t mean to faint, really I didn’t. I know Maude thinks I bring it on deliberately, but I didn‘t-not this time. It was just that when I looked into the columbarium, I was sure I saw a little movement. I thought it might be the ghost of one of the poor souls with their ashes in there, hovering about in search of its body. Then I felt something touch the back of my neck and I knew it must be a ghost, and I fainted.
When I told Maude afterward what had happened she said it was probably the shadow from the cedar against the back wall of the columbarium. But I know what I saw, and it was not of this world.
Afterward I felt quite wretched, but no one paid any attention to me, not even to get me a glass of water-they were all agog at that man talking about burning and whatnot. I could not follow what he said at all, it was so tedious.
Then Maude’s grandmother dragged her off, and our mothers began to follow, and only Ivy May waited for me. She can be a dear sometimes. I got to my feet and was brushing off my dress when I heard a noise above me and looked up to see Simon on the roof of the columbarium! I couldn’t help but scream, what with the ghost and all. I don’t think anyone but Ivy May heard me-no one came back to see what was wrong.
When I had recovered I said, “What are you doing up there, naughty boy?”
“Looking at you,” he said cheekily.
“Do you like me, then?” I asked.
“Sure.”
“Better than Maude? I’m prettier.”
“Her mum’s the prettiest of all,” he said.
I frowned. That was not at all what I’d wanted him to say. “Come, Ivy May,” I said, “we must find the others.” I held out my hand to her, but she would not take it. She just looked up at Simon, her hands clasped behind her as if she were inspecting something.
“Ivy May don’t say much, do she?” he said.
“No, she doesn’t.”
“Sometimes I do,” she said.
“There you go.” Simon nodded. He smiled at her, and to my surprise Ivy May smiled back.
That was when the man came back-Mr. Jackson, the one who talked about all the burning. He rushed around the corner, saw Simon and me, and stopped.
“What are you doing here, Simon? You’re meant to be helping your father. And what are you doing with these girls? They’re not for the likes of you. Has he been bothering you, young lady?” he said to me.
“Oh, yes, he’s been bothering me awfully,” I said.
“Simon! I’ll have your father’s job for this. Go and tell him to stop digging. That’s the end of you, lad.”
I wasn’t sure if he was bluffing. But Simon scrambled to his feet and stared at the man. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but he glanced at me and didn’t. Then suddenly he took a few steps back and before I knew it he’d jumped clear over our heads from the roof of the columbarium to the circle with the cedar in it. I was so surprised I just stood there with my mouth open. He must have jumped ten feet.