The Remembrance Stones

From breakfast

Mary came in with the tea tray about an hour later, it was 10.00 AM and time for morning tea,
“Where have those scally wags gone to with the that poor little creature ?” “Over to that Professor fellow, the one who collects bugs, they thought he might know something about their flutterby”- Mary’s laughter even now betrayed the trickle and ripple of Tim’s, Frank loved her all the more for her unspoilt ways, her naturalness, she had never been stuck up like the others, even now the division between Guild and other stock was noted, if not voiced. Mary’s great, great Grand father had been a Land holder of 5 acres with a herd and dairy and though Francis had made good, he would never be allowed to forget that his forebears were Masons. Mary didn’t care, Masons were skilful artisans, Frank had shown her his great Great Grandfather’s initials etched into one of the stones of the local Catholic church, he didn’t realize how proud she was of him and words never seemed enough.
“Frank! Did you know they call those stones ‘Remembrance Stones’?”
“No, I didn’t and so how do you know ?”
Well, she said, in that particular voice, as though about to impart something special,
“After the implosion the villagers who lost men folk in the disaster took away stones just like these from the top of the mound and used them as grave markers for the Memorial Garden, since none of those people were ever recovered from there. Didn’t your grandfather do so for his father?”
“I don’t believe our family did that, we were Chapel back then and would have thought it superstitious. Mary. Are you certain these are the same ones?”
“As I can be, look, each one is made from the sandstone our quarry is famous for, this beautiful rich brown colour and each has six white silica protrusions, just like this one; the two closest each other do look like eyes as Tim said, the others- well it has been said by some that they are the deformed limbs of our lost ones, and…” Mary paused, shuddered and they both felt the oppression slither over them,…”They are going missing”.

To the Village



Comments are closed.