The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1618 by Angharad Copyright © 2012 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

Great Aunt Una’s funeral and subsequent cremation came and went. I gave the eulogy after talking with the humanist chap about who would do what. He was delighted that I’d found out so much about her in a relatively short time and he used much of that information–her bohemian nature and her love for Erwin Schrodinger, her being a sort of trail blazer regarding women scientists and so on.

It meant that unless I was happy to repeat this information, my eulogy was going to be somewhat short. After much thinking, I spoke about how we’d met and her letter to me. I mused on what might have been had we met before and how much I admired some of her motivation yet felt that she had missed out on so much by not having a family.

At the bun-fight at the Jolly Roger, I was accosted by my ‘loving’ Aunt Do. “How come she left you some money in her will and none to me, Char–um–Cathy?”

“She didn’t leave me anything, Auntie Do, she left some to my research projects.”

“Yes, but you can get round that, I’m sure.”

“What d’you mean, get round it?”

“You know, lose a bit here and there, if you need a new dress or something.”

“No I can’t, it’ll go to the university who will hold the money for my department who will then be able to allocate grants to people who submit plans for projects for dormouse studies.”

“I thought you controlled all that?”

“I have some input to it, yes, but there’ll be a proper committee to vet applications and award the money.”

“For a good party, no doubt–I know what universities are like.”

“No, absolutely not, it will go for properly costed and detailed plans, nothing else.”

“Go on, you can tell me, I won’t tell anyone.”

“Auntie Do, I’ve just told you what will happen to the money.”

“What about the bequest to Patricia, the least she could have done is come to her great great aunt’s funeral–I don’t see her here.”

“She’s in school,” terrorising the science teacher, “I agreed with Simon that we wouldn’t bring any of the children with us.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t think funerals are appropriate places for children.”

“How d’you think they learn about death?”

“She’s well aware of death–she went to her sister’s funeral at the same crematorium. She knows what it is to lose someone she loved. All of them do.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you’d lost one–presumably social services know as well?”

“Naturally, she died from an aneurysm in her brain, could have gone at any time according to the coroner.”

“Oh, poor lamb. So how come Patricia got a grant to go to university? None of the others did, did they?”

“No, she was the first of us to meet Una and made quite an impression.”

“She did with us as well, little liar that she is.”

“How long is the drive back to Swindon?” I asked bored with her and her sort.

“Oh I see, change the subject why don’t you?”

“Yes I will, the old one had got old very quickly.”

“It’s alright for you, Catherine Cameron, you married a bank, I’m just a poor old pensioner making ends meet. To them who’s got money shall more be given.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know–blessed are the cheese makers.”

“Cheese makers? Where are they mentioned.”

“Brian book one chapter fifteen verse ten, why?”

“Brian? I don’t remember any of the disciples called Brian.”

“It’s an Apocryphal book. I believe the Council Of Nicea sorted out what would be the definitive version of the New Testament.”

“I think you’re lying to me, Cha–um–Cathy.”

“Would I lie to you, Auntie Do?” I meant the question rhetorically.

But she had to answer it, “Yes, I think you would.”

She called Uncle Arthur and they left her bustling him all the way to the car.”

“Why doesn’t he just tell her to bugger off?” asked Simon observing the behaviour of my aunt and uncle.

“He’s terrified of her.”

“He ain’t the only one?”

Finally, we were able to go on the pretext of collecting the children. Sister Maria had attended the funeral, representing the school, but had left immediately afterwards presumably going back to work.

The most interesting character had been an older middle-aged lady, who’d been a pupil of Una’s at St Claires and who was full of wondrous tales about their crazy science and maths teacher.

Apparently they had done the famous Piza experiment dropping two different things from the top of the church and nearly killed the parish priest, presumably not with the feather. Then she’d tried to replicate Benjamin Franklin’s experiment with the kite and the key during a thunderstorm and nearly electrocuted herself as the current passed down the wet string of the kite.

It sounded as if Una had been a magical teacher, everyone of her charges–discounting the electrical ones–passed their exams in maths and science and several went on to become scientists themselves, their curiosity piqued by the batty science teacher who’d shown her love and enthusiasm for the subject.

The kite experiment the next time she did it caused a blackout over half of Portsmouth when it touched against a high voltage cable on a nearby pylon and shorted the lot out. It was banned after that, and besides she was sixty years old and due for retirement.

Simon and I chatted as we drove to collect the girls, “I wonder if I’ll still be working at sixty?” I mused.

“Nah, you’ll definitely be over the hill by then.”

“Except by the time I get there, the age of retirement will have been moved back to ninety. How are they going to employ all these youngsters if they stop older people retiring? The jobs just won’t be there.”

“Ah but it’s cheaper if people die before they claim a pension.” Simon offered a pragmatic view compared to my naíve one.

“But that’s not fair, I’ll have paid into a pension fund and will get nothing out of it.”

“You will, not as much as if you’d been claiming for thirty years, but that’s a problem for your provider not the government, all they’re worried about is not having to pay your state pension. That’s where they lose money especially if they pay a set amount regardless of whether you’ve paid into it or not. If you want to show a profit, don’t pay any National Insurance or taxes for the next fifty years.”

“But that’s dishonest, Si,” I felt quite angry by his glibness.

“Yeah, but does it worry all those who do just that–I don’t think so?”

“Surely there can’t be that many can there?”

“You’d be surprised, babes, you’d be surprised–and apart from Scandinavia, this is the only place daft enough to fund them.”

“In some regards I’m proud of that, in others I’m ashamed of the few scroungers who milk the system and probably work as hard in doing so as those of us who work officially.”

“Well I’ve got no time for any of them, bloody parasites.”

“Things will change, Si, demographics will see to that, unless we develop a huge underclass and that will lead to nightmare scenarios, like some of these dystopian films and novels.”

“Better keep in with Arnie then, we may need him to come and punch some city in the mouth.”

“He’ll be too old by then, Si.”

“Oh bugger, who we gonna call?”

“The Ghostbusters?” I offered showing I wasn’t as uninfluenced by popular culture as I liked to think.