Free Grave Concerns by Rebecca Tope Page B

you see,’ explained one of the daughters to Drew. ‘And it sounds nice in your field.’ Not for the first time, Drew wondered whether he’d done the right thing in keeping costs so low. For so long now, funerals had made a substantial hole in almost any family’s resources, and the population had seen that as no more than fitting. If you offered a cheap service, did that risk undervaluing the person being buried? Was he making things too easy for the miserly and uncaring? The accusations had been articulated only too vividly by his former employer, Daphne Plant. You’re not doing anybody any favours, Drew. Not even yourself. If people genuinely can’t afford fifteen hundred pounds or so, then there’s a DSS fund to help them out. Isn’t a person’s life worth commemorating with some serious expenditure? All our social and personal values these days are tied up with money. By forcing them to dig into their pockets, we’re saying we think death is something really important. What message are you going to be giving them? ‘Just stick your old mum in this field, where she’ll soon be fertilising the grass and the daisies. It’ll only cost you a few hundred quid.’ It’ll backfire on you, Drew. Just you mark my words .
    He hadn’t tried to argue with her. He saw only too clearly how it appeared to her, under her unwavering value system. Her family had been in the business for generations, fighting off threats from voracious American funeral companies, building determinedly on Plant’s commitment to the local community, with their intimate knowledge of family connections. Daphne couldn’t afford to listen to Drew. Even though funeral practices had scarcely changed in a century or more, there was no room for complacency. A natural burial ground, with its overtones of recycling and ecology, and a move away from empty ritual orchestrated by an unknown minister, just might be the futurepreference for a substantial proportion of the population. Drew could hardly expect his former boss to send him off with her blessing.
    Cynthia Smithers’ daughter quickly redeemed herself, however. ‘Could we have one of those pretty willow baskets?’ she asked. ‘We’ll come and decorate it ourselves, if that’s all right. And we’ll dress Mum up in her Sunday best.’ For the next day and a half, no fewer than nine members of the woman’s family made free with Drew’s cool room behind the office, making up for the shortage of money with an infinity of time and care and attention. Drew almost wept with relieved admiration.
    ‘Could we put up a bird box?’ asked a grandson. ‘So she can be sure to have some bluetits around her? She loved bluetits, did Granny.’ Drew went with him to select a suitable point on the trunk of one of the beech trees, indulging in a glowing vision of a succession of such suggestions, until the field became an overflowing paradise of colour and wildlife and individual statements of love. Yes! he crowed to himself. It’s really going to work .
    Cynthia’s two sons dug the grave themselves, saving another eighty pounds on their bill and doing Jeffrey out of a job. They went down three and a half feet, which Drew advised was the deepest he thought sensible. After some research,he had worked out how to get the significance of this across to people, without getting too graphic. ‘There’s virtually no oxygen deep in the ground,’ he explained. ‘So the natural processes don’t happen properly. And in this particular bit of ground, there’s a layer of clay at about four feet, which only makes it worse. I won’t go into the biochemical details, but ecologically speaking, a body is going to be a lot more useful if it’s not buried too deep.’ Privately, he wished they’d made it even shallower, but it was still a decided improvement on the traditional six feet.
    ‘Er – there isn’t any danger of animals – you know—’ the elder son asked uncomfortably. ‘I mean – that’s why