Meg went to the Tower, somehow passed the halberds of the Yeomen of the Guard to embrace once more the father whose hair shirt she washed, whose “wholesome counsel and virtuous example” she received, whose mind and person she loved.
Not Holbein’s Chancellor but an El Greco saint, he was led out carrying his red cross, emaciated and ready. He reminded the axe man his neck was short, asked him not to miss. Then put that noble neck in the arc of the block, and the great, wedge axe lopped off his blessed head. Faithless Henry had it put on a pike on London Bridge, a horrible deterrent to heroic silence.
At what cost and courage Margaret rescued it, carried it home to Canterbury, buried it by St. Dunstan’s Church. How often did she gaze from home across to the church yard, longing for the King whose name is love, Whom she, and we, still await?
Katrina Spade, founder of the Urban Death Project, plans to compost human remains with wood chips inside a three-story concrete core. She argues that this approach is even more ecologically sound than cremation, which creates greenhouse gases. Bob Fells, executive director of the International Cemetery, Cremation and Funeral Association, thinks treating human remains as a waste product is disrespectful. Spade is hoping to break ground for the composting facility in Seattle by 2022 (Slate, July 15).