We walked out into the sunlight and rode from the church to Rose Hills Memorial Park. My mother was buried in the family plot, alongside my father, my brothers Arthur and Harold, her mother and father, and her sister Elizabeth, who died of cancer. Only one reporter had the bad manners to stick a microphone in my face and ask how I felt. I just walked past him.

There are various signages at the park entrance, and other places within the park.

Above all, the Servians […] read, with much avidity, the evangile of their freedom.

The poor sparrowling struggled bravely, but every attempt ended in failure …