Meet the Great Grandparents
Recently he has braved poisonous spiders in his Cornish grandparents’ shed, and got up to his armpits in mud to mend his parents’ (our) pond.
The other day he met up with with his father at the home of his Northumberland grandparents. No horrible jobs were scheduled.
But on spotting Pascoe, his grandfather decided that he needed the loft clearing. Nigel and Pascoe girded their loins. At least life-threatening fauna were unlikely to be involved this time.
In trip after trip, they heaved out boxes of junk and treasure, including the tools and chemicals that Granddad used to use for DIY.
Nearing the end of the task, Pascoe levered out yet another box of chemicals from behind the water cistern. By this time, he had passed the point of curiosity, and was about to sling them when Nigel noticed that two large brown plastic canisters had names on the lid. Familiar names.
“Pascoe, I think this could be….”
Pascoe was meeting his great grandparents.
In ash form.
In ash form.
There followed an interval of thoughtful silence und unasked questions.
It was decided that they would be scattered from the local bridge into the Tyne which goes down into the sea, the same sea that carried them from England to their life’s work in Africa, and home again to retirement in Surrey.
One last job to be done for them.