GRAVE MATTERS

A chance glimpse of a T.V programme last night brought back some memories that are both amusing and sad. One of the characters was burying her mothers ashes,not the most comical of circumstances and yet a similar event which involved myself some years ago was, and still is the source of considerable amusement.

At the time I was sharing several allotments with a friend, sadly ,no longer with us. One day we were taking a break from digging out a new bean trench when another plot holder. And elderly lady wandered up the path and sat down on the bench between us. She had with her. A shopping bag, holding, we thought, her lunch, but as we sat drinking our coffee we learned what she really had in her bag.

Her husband, she told us had dies a couple of years previously after a long illness, and as he had requested his body had been cremated. She went on to tell us that she had felt unable to part with the ashes but that ever since she had been keeping them in her bedroom she had been feeling creepy, she had, she said, decides to bury her late husbands remains on the allotment which they had worked together for so many years.

But there was a problem. As she herself was eighty seven she was concerned that when she died someone else might take over her plot and dig the old boy up so she had arranged with a young friend who gardened on the allotment next to hers to bury her husband on her ground under a small apple tree which she would provide.

"He didn't particularly care for apples." she explained "But they were on special at the garden centre!"

While obviously concerned for the old ladies grief the whole plan seemed very convoluted to me and fraught with possible problems. I was also aware that my friends shoulders were shaking  as he attempted not to laugh. We agreed to act as grave diggers and armed with a couple of spades and a mattock we proceeded in single file to the chosen  spot, collecting the apple tree which had been left on the pathway as we went.

We took it in turns to dig, the old lady, fearing that her husbands remains might be disturbed by future cultivation insisted upon a very deep hole indeed. The afternoon was hot,we toiled away for over an hour until I mentioned that if we dug any deeper we would be able to bury the apple tree as well.

Now, for the first time we were shown the remains, the old lady produced from the depths of her shopping bag a clear plastic box which had once contained a famous brand of chocolates(the sort which are, allegedly handed around at Ambassadorial parties!)

The effect upon us gravediggers was instant and we both resorted to severe coughing fits to disguise our amusement.

As well as the ashes the box contained a small parcel the contents of which where a mystery and since we did not like to ask they remained so.

We pleaded with the old lady to use a cardboard or even a wooden box which would ,over time disintegrate and vanish into the soil but she refused, not wishing the worms and bugs to take liberties with what was left of her husband.

We buried the box,we planted the tree, then I said a few words over the grave after which we shook hands all round and went our separate ways.

A little over a year later the owner of the impromptu tomb had decided to move to Cornwall, leaving the old lady with the dilemma of what to do about the box of ashes. She asked us if we could dig up the box and the tree and replant both on her own garden plot,which of course we agreed to do.

Another deep hole, another burial with due ceremony and once again we left the dear departed to rest in peace....again. Again we wondered about the parcel, what could it be?

Sadly, during that winter my gardening partner died leaving me to care for our four plots alone, then I heard that the old lady herself has been taken seriously ill and had been force to give up her plot. “Keep an eye on me old man.” she asked me when I went to visit her. I was never to see the old girl again.

Spring arrived and I girded up my loins to carry on single handed, I had given up two of the four plots as I felt that I could not managed them all alone. The old ladies plot was taken by a retired gentleman who needed a refuge from his nagging wife and a place to hide his beer and the cigarettes he was not allowed to smoke at home.

He did practically no gardening and the weeds flourished throughout the summer as he and his cronies sat on their deck chairs drinking their tins of beer and putting up a smoke screen big enough to hide a battleship.

This suited me right down to the ground, no need to mention the grave, I thought, you could hardly see the young apple tree for weeds.

A bout of flue kept me indoors for a couple of weeks and on my return to the allotments I saw, with consternation that the area around the grave had been cleared of weeds and the apple tree stood proudly in the clear patch. It seemed that due to a threatened visit by his wife to check on his progress he decide to make and effort to plant a few veggies.

I spoke to the owner of the plot and in a round about way tried to discover just how deep he had been digging,I was to receive my answer quickly. He went in to his shed to bring our a couple of beers and his tobacco and rolling papers,and there was the plastic chocolate box, being used now as a tobacco tin!

There was nothing to be done except to thank the Gods I did not smoke when he offered me a roll up to go with the beer.

“It's very useful.” he remarked pointing to the box. “I found it while digging under the apple tree .”he told me

“The box was full of dust.” he said “And these.” He held up a pair of false teeth!

The mystery was solved, at last. I asked the chap what he had done with the contents of the box and he pointed to a bed of newly planted tomatoes. “I tipped it out over there, and dug it in.”he explained.

Old Arthur was back on his allotment, growing tomatoes once again!