8. Final Chapter

Listen:

I may here mention that all my time since early manhood I have had, and enjoyed, the friendship of one John Wilson of Bigrigg. We married one month between us and we have been more together since then. He came to reside at St. Bees and has lived there ever since. Poor fellow, he suffered the same misfortune as myself, two years after me and it only puts it very lightly when I say I feel very sorry for him. He, like myself, married as fine a girl as any man would desire to meet. I think we enjoy each other's company now better than ever. Our trouble has brought us closer together. I can say there is no-one's company to me like his is. Perhaps we do at times talk of doleful things but we can honestly get down to each other's level and to us there is gladness in remembrance.

They are lying not far apart in the Old Abbey of St. Bees yard, of which no fairer spot could be found. Here the snowdrop and yellow and blue crocus, and 'daffi', or Easter Lily, grow in profusion. Here the blackbird and thrush pipe their greetings to the early morn and close of day, the bleating of the lambs just over the wall can be heard, and the rooks wheeling their airy rings overhead. The old bells of the Church ring out their joyous peals all the year round and the swell of the organ reaches their lowly bed. It is hard to visit this hallowed spot and stand and think of the times that were, and the forms that lie beneath the mound, and recall again the smiling face and the liquid beauty of the eyes. But this is where we all must end.

Wilson, like myself, has done no work for a long time, - the one place he worked at all his life being closed down, indefinitely. It may not resume again in our time.

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