prepared the girls more for what they were about to see. Maude is quite phlegmatic and robust, and Ivy May, the younger Waterhouse girl with the big hazel eyes, keeps her thoughts to herself. But Lavinia is the kind of girl who will find any excuse to fall into a faint, which she promptly did the moment she peered through the iron grillwork into the columbarium. Not that there is much to see, realty--it is a small, high vault lined with cubicles of about one foot by eighteen inches. They are all empty except for two quite high up which have been covered over with stone plaques, and another with an urn sitting in it, with no plaque as of yet. Given that there are urns everywhere on graves here, it is hard to see what Lavinia made such a fuss about.
It was secretly gratifying, too, I must confess, for up until that moment Gertrude Waterhouse and Mrs. Coleman had been getting on very well. I would never say I was jealous, but it did make me feel rather inadequate. However, when Gertrude had to attend to her prone daughter, waving smelling salts under her nose while Ivy May fanned her with a handkerchief, Mrs. Coleman grew more disapproving. "What's wrong with the girl?" she barked.
"She's a bit sensitive, I'm afraid," poor Gertrude replied. "She's not meant to see such sights."
Mrs. Coleman humphed. Her humphs are often more damaging than her words.
While we waited for Lavinia to revive, Maude asked me why it was called a columbarium.
"That's Latin for dovecote, where birds live."
"But birds don't live there."
"No. The little cubbyholes are for urns."
"But why do they keep urns there?"
"Most people when they die are buried in coffins. But some people choose to be burned. The urns hold their ashes and this is where you can put them."
"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.
It was secretly gratifying, too, I must confess, for up until that moment Gertrude Waterhouse and Mrs. Coleman had been getting on very well. I would never say I was jealous, but it did make me feel rather inadequate. However, when Gertrude had to attend to her prone daughter, waving smelling salts under her nose while Ivy May fanned her with a handkerchief, Mrs. Coleman grew more disapproving. "What's wrong with the girl?" she barked.
"She's a bit sensitive, I'm afraid," poor Gertrude replied. "She's not meant to see such sights."
Mrs. Coleman humphed. Her humphs are often more damaging than her words.
While we waited for Lavinia to revive, Maude asked me why it was called a columbarium.
"That's Latin for dovecote, where birds live."
"But birds don't live there."
"No. The little cubbyholes are for urns."
"But why do they keep urns there?"
"Most people when they die are buried in coffins. But some people choose to be burned. The urns hold their ashes and this is where you can put them."
"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.
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