The Space Underground


One after another they descended the hard, stone steps. Gingerly, hesitatingly, clutching the thin iron railing, cold to touch, down they went, step after steep step. So narrow was the space they brushed the damp dark walls as they entered the cool musty cellar. In the dim, dingy light they could just perceive corridors leading to yet more corridors. There were rows of shelves, four deep with large boxes behind iron gates; homes for coffins; three thousand of them. Most dark spaces were occupied, ancient and crumbling, dust layering on dust. Other spaces black, vacant and waiting. They stood and stared in the half light, cooling to a chill. All was still except the drip overhead marking time. All was grey but the light from the ventilator shaft casting daylight promise. They moved slowly, like ghosts. The guide said that if they wanted to book their own space, as he had done, it would only cost them £1,200 and was a bargain.