Maybe I Should

When I was about 13, or 14, one of the gang that used to hang out at our house decided that it would be fun to try her new present, a board with letters and numbers, and a little heart shaped pointer.

Being very brave teens, we set the night, and after gathering at our house, we watched as the bravest of the brave attempted to contact a spirit, which we had been told would visit at our calling.

The usual shouts of "Fake", and " Your moving it" could be heard when the pointer began to move to spell various answers and yes, or no.

The only point that remained with me, being rather far away from the object of teen wonder, was the spirit name of the board. Richard P M. 

It seemed silly at the time to think that one of the board users would pick such an obvious fake name, however, the named remained with me long after we teased the spirits, and had our fun. Imagine, a sear gent from WW2, killed in action, coming all that way to haunt our party, saying he lived close to OUR house, and that he was lonely, and forgotten..... such rubbish, and what a good trick to play on the rest of us. Two years after, and mostly forgotten, the incident was very faraway as my parents drove us home from a day in the country.

As we crested a hill many miles yet from home, my mother exclaimed to my Dad, " Did you see that, back at the hill?" My father answered in his usual manner, " No dear, I'm driving the car...see what??"

" It looked like a headstone in that little field, please turnaround, lets go look". My father waited as the other cars past, and slowly turned the car around as requested. My brother and I were excited.. a Headstone??, a graveyard??. We could hardly wait until the car was stopped before leaping out and across the decrepit fence. The little field was in a sorry state. 

The grass was waist high, and tree's more that 10 years old were making a stand between the broken headstones. As my mother made her way carefully through the neglected field, my brother and I ran here and there, popping out of the over growth, trying to scare each other. My last race across the grass saw me trip over a buried headstone, and pitch face first into the grass. 

With my mothers warning, and my brothers laughter still fresh, the three of us (dad stayed by the car) decided to upright the stone, and pay our respects. The sight of the name on the stone froze my blood long before the stone itself slipped from my fingers and crashed over backwards. That name, that party, the laughter, the board game. My shock was mirrored in my brothers face as we silently pleaded with each other for an explanation. We stared.

Richard Died While Serving His Counrty Having Attained the Rank of Sergeant God Save the Queen

Its been 35 years since our discovery. My mother called the appropriate councils, and soon after, the grass was cut, the trees removed, and without damage, the headstones set right. I have never since played with a board of any kind, and my brother and I have never mentioned the incident since. The graveyard is located beside the Rideau Carelton Race Track, in Gloucester, and to this day remains a place I cannot drive by.

Maybe I should

David

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