Just over five years ago my parents scattered the ashes of my eldest sister here on the White Horse

She had died in an accident

My parents never came to terms with our loss

They never smile

A light has been extinguished

Polly was lying in the long day grasses

I have composed a short poem

Adam looked into the middle distance at the cement works and the railway line that ran past it

When I was at school I could see the tall chimney of the cement works from my classroom window

I was always able to tell the weather by the direction of the smoke released into the Westbury winds

I am never seen it smoking

It packed up many years ago

Polly smiled at her husband who was running a reed of grass between his fingers

May I hear your poem?

It is very poor

Where did it originate from?

It originated from my heart

Well as the keeper of your heart I insist that you read it to me

The wheat is being collected
The sun is being reflected
Summer is at its height
Let us not wish for the night

Nether Polly or Adam spoke they watched as a London bound train raced by through the late summer fields below

I fear that it is late and catching up on time

Adam did not answer

Polly gripped his hand tightly

Do you know that on the day Mum and Dad released Lucy’s ashes they were delayed by a chap who had climbed down on to the eye of the white horse

It seems that he was reliving a childhood adventure

At first Mum and Dad did not want to disturb him as he was having so much fun

But the eye was also Lucy’s favourite spot and they felt that was where she belonged

The stranger was most apologetic when he was asked if he would let them scatter Lucy’s ashes and give them time to reflect on her life 

The strange thing was that the stranger a man of about fifty then simply vanished

It was as if he had not existed at all

Polly began digging a small hole in a gap between the long grasses

What are you doing?

I am digging a small hole so that I may deposit my poem here

Perhaps Lucy will read it after we leave

Polly carefully placed the small sheet of paper on which the poem was written into a shallow intrusion

She covered the poem so that the winds would not release it

For you Lucy

As they were walking down the steep hill towards the town Adam turned to his wife

Your poem did it have a title?

Not really but I think I may call it The Shadow Fathers