Our local cemetery is full of

history. It is one of the earliest in the state. Some of those buried there are people who actually founded the state. There are names anyone who has done any history of the state in school would recognise. 
And there are other people. There are of course the very young who died in a time where medical care was not what it is today, if it was available at all. There are others who met with accidents because of the type of work done. 
Some graves are much newer than others. Some are cared for and others are gradually decaying as no family members are even present in the state to remember them.
Ms W came in on Saturday looking very serious and said,
     "My Dad has to go to the big thing in the city. I don't want to go because I'll just cry again. Are you going?"
I told her I wasn't and asked,
     "Is there something else you want to do?"
She nodded.
     "Is it silly but I want to go and put some flowers on Uncle Peter's grave? Nobody else will."
     "It's not silly," I told her, "It means you are thinking of him - and that also means you are thinking of everyone like him. I think your  father will be pleased you are doing that."   
"Uncle Peter" was a neighbour not a member of her family. He was her substitute grandfather for some years, a returned serviceman who never spoke of the war. He left his war service medals to Ms W's father because he had no other close relatives - and Ms W's father has none either.
We sorted out some arrangements and yesterday we pedalled over there.  It was quiet but not empty. There were more tributes around than usual. People had been in and I guessed there would be more people in as the afternoon progressed. 
We found the grave in question, no easy task because the cemetery is not numbered in the way that many here are. The headstone is very plain. It is the burial place of several members of the same family.
Ms W put the flowers, flowers she had grown herself, on the grave. We pulled out several very small stray weeds but the place was tidy.
     "Someone has tidied it up," Ms W said.
I suspect the "friends" group has been busy. 
Ms W stood there for a moment and then hugged me and said,
      "Thank you. I still sort of miss him."
I know she does.
      "And I know maybe I shouldn't have asked you but I didn't want anyone else - except maybe my dad and he said not to worry about not going with him because he would be too busy and anyway he was going to tell people we had something else important to do."
And yes, it was important.  There aren't many young teens who would have thought of doing this but I didn't want her to get more upset so I said, 
     "Come and have a look at the places some interesting people are buried - if I can remember where to find them. Some of the inscriptions are interesting. I think I can show you where T...'s great-great grandfather is buried."
T... is a work colleague of her father. We wandered slowly down the next path and turned the corner. The grave was where I remembered it. 
     "He was pretty important wasn't he?" Ms W asked.
     "He certainly did a lot to help get the state started," I said.
 Someone had put flowers on that grave. 
People were coming in, some with flowers and others without. Ms W looked at a young boy running down one of the paths and said,
     "Let's go. I'd rather be here when it was quiet."
I would too. 
     "I think I'll come back one day and find some more history. My dad will probably like it too."
He will but I am glad her mother's ashes were, like those of my mother, buried under a newly planted tree somewhere in the hills behind us. She doesn't need to visit that grave.