Maisie Dobbs Read Online Free PDF

making a comfortable place for the dead. Her thoughts took her back to France, to the dead and dying, to the devastating wounds that were so often beyond her skill, beyond every- one's. But it was the wounds of the mind that touched her, those who still fought their battles again and again each day, though the country was at peace. If only she could make the living as comfortable, thought Maisie, as she tidied a few more stubborn weeds in the shadow of Don's headstone.
    "Making a nice job of that one"
    Maisie swung around, to see one of the cemetery workers standing behind her, an older man with red, bony hands firmly grasping the handles of a wooden wheelbarrow. His ruddy complexion told of years working outdoors, but his kind eyes spoke of compassion, of respect.
    "Why yes. It's sad to see them so uncared for, isn't it?" replied Maisie.
    "I'll say, after what those boys gave for us. Poor bastards. Oh, Miss, I am sorry, I forgot-"
    "Don't worry. It's as well to voice one's feelings," replied Maisie.
    "That's the truth. Too much not said by 'al£"
    The man pointed to Donald's grave.
    "Haven't seen this one being tended for a few years. His old Mum and Dad used to come over. Only son. Killed them, too, it did, I reckon."
    "Did you know them? I would have thought it would be difficult to know all the relatives, with so many graves," said Maisie.
    "I'm 'ere every day 'cept Sundays, that is. Been 'ere since just after the war. I get to know people. 'Course, you don't 'ave long talks, no time for that, and folk don't always want to talk, but, there again, there's those that want to 'ave a bit of conversation"
    "Yes, yes, I'm sure"
    "Not seen you before, not 'ere" The man looked at Maisie.
    "No, that's true. I'm a cousin. Just moved to the city," said Maisie, looking at the man directly.
    "Nice to see it being taken care of." The man firmed his grip on the wheelbarrow handles, as if to move on.
    "Wait a minute. I wonder, could you tell me, are all the graves here, in this part, war graves?" asked Maisie.
    "Yes and no. Most of these are our boys, but some lived a long time after their injuries. Your Don, well, you'd know this, but 'e 'ad septicemia. Horrible way to go, 'specially as 'e was brought home. Lot of folk like to bury 'em 'ere because of the railway."
    The man set the wheelbarrow down, and pointed to the railway lines running alongside the cemetery.
    "You can see the trains from 'ere. Not that these boys can see the trains, but the relatives like it. They're on a journey, you see, it's ayou know, what do they call it, you know-when it means something to them"
    "Metaphor?"
    "Yeah, well, like I said, it's a journey, innit? And the relatives, if they've come by train, which most of them do, can see the graves as the train pulls out of the station. They can say another good-bye that way"
    "So, what about that one there? Strange, isn't it? Just one word, the Christian name?" asked Maisie.
    "I'll say. The whole bleedin' thing was strange. Two years ago 'e came, this one. Small family burial. 'e was a captain. Injured at Passchendaele. Terrible show was that one, terrible. Wonder 'e came 'ome at all. 'e'd lived away from the family, apparently, after bein"ome for a bit. Wanted to be known only by 'is Christian name. Said it wasn't important anymore, seem' as they were all nobodies who could just be written off like leftovers. Shame to 'is family, accordin' to a couple of 'is mates that came up 'ere for a while after. Now only that woman comes. Think she was 'is mate's sister, known 'er for years, 'e 'ad. Keeps the grave nice, you'd think 'e only went down yesterday."
    "Hmm. Very sad indeed. What was his surname, do you know?"
    By now the man was well into the telling of stories, and seemed glad of the opportunity, and importance, that a question brought him.
    "Weathershaw Vincent Weathershaw Came from Chislehurst. Good family, by the looks of them. Mind you, 'e passed away where 'e was living. A farm, I think it was. Yes, 'e lived