Once out of the city we stopped to pick up sandwiches and drinks in the village of Skirlaugh knowing that we had a few hours ahead of us working through the remaining detritus in Simon's cottage. We ate the sandwiches in the village churchyard. Built in the early years of the fifteenth century, St Augustine's is an unusually light and airy church - an excellent example of the Perpendicular style of ecclesiastical architecture.
Onward to the village, finding more boxes of stuff to sort through in the cottage and Simon's two sheds. I had to be as ruthless as possible but it was quite tragic chucking out bits and pieces of my family's old life. A ship in a bottle, amateurish framed water colours by my father, old books, pottery, glassware, holiday souvenirs, three figures made by my mother which Shirley photographed before we consigned them to a "household waste" bag. Some of the stuff was allocated to charity shop boxes.
We filled Clint up with stuff to transport to the household recycling centre near Hornsea. As I approached the little seaside town that figured large in my youth, my way was blocked by a police cordon. Apparently, a murderer had fled to the coast that morning, dying in a collision with another vehicle but hey, that's another story. The detour added several extra miles to my short journey - down single track country lanes.
Back at the cottage, we worked through till six o'clock when I phoned our friend Tony to ask if we could stay the night in the house he shares with Pauline in Beverley. He gladly consented and the next morning we were up early and on our way back to the village for another day of hard labour.
Three more visits to the recycling centre with Clint filled to the brim. I bought fresh sandwiches and drinks from a bakery in Hornsea. Fortunately, the cordon had been lifted and more details of the previous day's tragic events had been revealed. The driver of the other vehicle was a local electrician who now has "potentially life changing injuries". Poor lad. Wrong place, wrong time.
By six o'clock on Tuesday evening, we had once again run out of steam but there was still more detritus to deal with. Not far to go now though. We are pretty damned sure that the job will be done next time we go over there this coming Saturday. Then we will be able to hand the keys over to the landlord and landlady and try to forget about that awful place.
It is kind of sad that many bereaved families have to deal with similar house clearances between a death and the funeral that follows. It would be better to enjoy quiet contemplation and reflection about the departed than to fill boxes and sort through the physical remnants of lost lives. Thanks to Shirley for all her hard work in helping me to reach the finishing line. I could not have done it without her.