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Authors: Peter Turnbull
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words, sir, I like that word . . . indistinct . . . but yes, it would be indistinct from the rest of the field. You put it very well, sir.’
‘Thank you.’ Hennessey inclined his head at Francis Bowler’s compliment, ‘Your information is very useful. The grave was about four feet down . . . deeper in fact . . . the topmost bodies were four feet below the surface. There were others beneath them.’
‘Deep,’ Bowler growled, ‘a proper grave . . . proper depth.’
‘Yes, it seems so,’ Hennessey replied. ‘We thought the same. Not a shallow grave . . .’
‘Proper grave,’ Bowler repeated, ‘a final resting place. We all get one.’
‘Probably not as final as the person who dug it might have hoped.’ Hennessey smiled wryly. ‘So, tell us, how long do you think it would take to dig a hole as deep as that?’
Francis Bowler shrugged. ‘Well . . . wet field . . . even in the late summer and the early autumn it’s a wet old field . . . heavy soil. My wife’s father was a gravedigger for the council in York all his days. He dug graves in Fulford cemetery and used to dig graves in churchyards also, because he was a Christian and helped out the vicar when there was a funeral and a burial to be done. Anyway, he once told me that a grave is a day’s work for a good gravedigger. From peeling back the turf to getting six feet down, keeping the sides vertical and the bottom level . . . very important to do that . . . so you “sink” a grave, do you see? You work it down into the ground, down into the soil, so one grave is one day’s work. Now the five acre, heavy, wet soil, there’s a lot of work there I would think.’
‘So nine a.m. to five p.m. with an hour for lunch, seven hours actual labour?’ Hennessey suggested.
‘That sort of time, but it would be sunk at night, you can be sure of that, gentlemen.’ Bowler tapped his pipe stem against his teeth which appeared blackened with decay.
‘You think so?’ Hennessey asked.
‘Certain,’ Bowler replied. ‘No thinking about it in actual fact . . . certain as certain can be, there’s eyes about at night, just the same, but not as many.’
‘The fields have eyes,’ Hennessey said, ‘as you just mentioned.’
‘Yes . . . so you’d need to be finished by dawn. It would take all night.’ Bowler fumbled some tobacco from an old leather pouch into the bowl of his pipe and then lit the tobacco with a match. He then blew strong-smelling smoke towards, but not at, Hennessey and Yellich. ‘Dark at nine these nights, but a fit man with willing hands would have done the job in a single night, including the filling in.’
‘Yes,’ Hennessey murmured, ‘I was thinking of the filling in, that would take time. Not as much as the digging, but still it would take some time.’
‘That’s an hour’s job at least.’ Bowler drew lovingly on his pipe. ‘And a very good hour. It would tire a man well out.’
‘Just one man with a spade, you think?’ Hennessey queried.
‘Could be done . . . be better with a team of men, but if it were me, I’d use a digger, a mechanical digger.’
‘Really?’ Hennessey sensed a possible lead.
‘Aye.’ Bowler once again drew on his pipe and glanced upward. ‘This is a lovely old time of the year, September . . . lovely.’
‘I am inclined to agree.’ Hennessey too enjoyed the blue sky and the lush green foliage.
‘So,’ Bowler continued, ‘if I wanted to get six feet down and six feet long and two or three feet wide into the five acre, dump the body or bodies, then fill in and be away before dawn I’d use a mechanical digger, that I would. The five acre is not too far from Catton Hill. Farming, even thirty years ago, was almost fully mechanized and so sounds in the night wouldn’t seem too unusual, but there’s the risk that someone might chance on you . . . a poacher . . . that still goes on, or an old boy walking home across the fields. So you’d not want to waste time and hang around any longer
‘Thank you.’ Hennessey inclined his head at Francis Bowler’s compliment, ‘Your information is very useful. The grave was about four feet down . . . deeper in fact . . . the topmost bodies were four feet below the surface. There were others beneath them.’
‘Deep,’ Bowler growled, ‘a proper grave . . . proper depth.’
‘Yes, it seems so,’ Hennessey replied. ‘We thought the same. Not a shallow grave . . .’
‘Proper grave,’ Bowler repeated, ‘a final resting place. We all get one.’
‘Probably not as final as the person who dug it might have hoped.’ Hennessey smiled wryly. ‘So, tell us, how long do you think it would take to dig a hole as deep as that?’
Francis Bowler shrugged. ‘Well . . . wet field . . . even in the late summer and the early autumn it’s a wet old field . . . heavy soil. My wife’s father was a gravedigger for the council in York all his days. He dug graves in Fulford cemetery and used to dig graves in churchyards also, because he was a Christian and helped out the vicar when there was a funeral and a burial to be done. Anyway, he once told me that a grave is a day’s work for a good gravedigger. From peeling back the turf to getting six feet down, keeping the sides vertical and the bottom level . . . very important to do that . . . so you “sink” a grave, do you see? You work it down into the ground, down into the soil, so one grave is one day’s work. Now the five acre, heavy, wet soil, there’s a lot of work there I would think.’
‘So nine a.m. to five p.m. with an hour for lunch, seven hours actual labour?’ Hennessey suggested.
‘That sort of time, but it would be sunk at night, you can be sure of that, gentlemen.’ Bowler tapped his pipe stem against his teeth which appeared blackened with decay.
‘You think so?’ Hennessey asked.
‘Certain,’ Bowler replied. ‘No thinking about it in actual fact . . . certain as certain can be, there’s eyes about at night, just the same, but not as many.’
‘The fields have eyes,’ Hennessey said, ‘as you just mentioned.’
‘Yes . . . so you’d need to be finished by dawn. It would take all night.’ Bowler fumbled some tobacco from an old leather pouch into the bowl of his pipe and then lit the tobacco with a match. He then blew strong-smelling smoke towards, but not at, Hennessey and Yellich. ‘Dark at nine these nights, but a fit man with willing hands would have done the job in a single night, including the filling in.’
‘Yes,’ Hennessey murmured, ‘I was thinking of the filling in, that would take time. Not as much as the digging, but still it would take some time.’
‘That’s an hour’s job at least.’ Bowler drew lovingly on his pipe. ‘And a very good hour. It would tire a man well out.’
‘Just one man with a spade, you think?’ Hennessey queried.
‘Could be done . . . be better with a team of men, but if it were me, I’d use a digger, a mechanical digger.’
‘Really?’ Hennessey sensed a possible lead.
‘Aye.’ Bowler once again drew on his pipe and glanced upward. ‘This is a lovely old time of the year, September . . . lovely.’
‘I am inclined to agree.’ Hennessey too enjoyed the blue sky and the lush green foliage.
‘So,’ Bowler continued, ‘if I wanted to get six feet down and six feet long and two or three feet wide into the five acre, dump the body or bodies, then fill in and be away before dawn I’d use a mechanical digger, that I would. The five acre is not too far from Catton Hill. Farming, even thirty years ago, was almost fully mechanized and so sounds in the night wouldn’t seem too unusual, but there’s the risk that someone might chance on you . . . a poacher . . . that still goes on, or an old boy walking home across the fields. So you’d not want to waste time and hang around any longer
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