A reference to a funerary urn buried on the same land as the farm (do a ctrl-f search under Cashen)
We tore out the hedge and we found it clutched in the gnarled arthritic roots. A simple sealed urn, about the size of a bovril tin. I told Barry to leave it be, that we'd best rebury it but he was too full of treasures. Like he'd found the leprechaun's wee pot of gold. He eventually laid it to one side and we finished digging out the hedgerow. I thought no more on it, my thoughts looking forward to the pint waiting at the local. The next day, Billy, Barry's lad came early to the house and told me his Da wasn't feeling well, and that he wanted me to come and see him. We hiked back to their house, and Barry looked like death was upon him, and he complained bitterly about the chill. Beryl offered a cuppa, and when I went through to the kitchen that was when I saw the urn on the table. Beryl told me that Barry had opened it night before and spilled black ashes over the linen. I shuddered, and told her I would take care of it. I took it back to Cashen and buried it under a flat rock. I never spoke of it to Barry, who came right soon enough. He still gurns about the cold though.
Tomorrow: V, one I've been dying to write for a while.