Pilgrimage

It has become my custom, since establishing its whereabouts with the help of the kindness of strangers, to visit the grave of Rosemary Tonks each year. This year I invited any others who might be interested to join me there and, in the event, Chris Martin and Kev Rogers, with Mrs. Pauline Rogers, did.

It was an ideally, utterly gorgeous, very early Autumn Sunday afternoon and not easy to think of anywhere one would rather be. Kev's a generous sort of guy and took flowers but we decided not to read poems either by Rosemary or in tribute to her because she long ago renounced the whole shebang and the last thing we wanted to do was offend.

Maybe we shouldn't bother her at all but she is more at rest there, released from her own fierce intelligence than anything else, and if we fondly imagine that the dead have the slightest interest in what the living think, I'd like her to know how much some of us still love her.