A graveyard, a shovel.... what more do you need.
My grandfather's funeral had been in May, but because the family wanted a good piece of Devon granite to mark where the ashes had been buried, we reconvened in November to lay the stone.

After the original internment of the small wooden box containing the ashes, the location had been marked with a small plaque. When we finally got the stone, we went back to the plaque, and I was given the job of removing the top couple of inches of turf so that the stone could be inset.

Not feeling entirely comfortable about digging in a graveyard, I set about my task with a real unease. A feeling that got worse when the spade hit something buried not very deeply beneath the surface.

It seems that the ash caskets have quite a shallow burial - I presume because they don't hold the same health hazard as a decaying corpse. So the top of the box was very close to the surface, and I began freaking out because I was digging up my Grandfather's ashes.

...except that when I peeled back the turf, there was a brass plaque on top of the box informing me that the contents belonged to someone called Doreen. Sometime between May and November my Grandfather's marker had been moved, and I ended up digging up somebody else's ashes.

In the end, I have no idea if the stone we laid is anywhere near the actual ashes, and to honest, I didn't care much.
(McDingo, Fri 12 May 2006, 9:52, Reply)