Ancestor-hunting? There's no rush ..

.. Well is there? They're a' deid.
Reading Jill's bit about getting on the bus, counting her Euros & then not knowing what parish she was after reminds me of my visit to the rather splendidly named Dundee Eastern Necropolis.
This was when I still hed a Kiwi eccent, as well as a load of ancestor-info 'to hand'. I knew the number of the Lair I was after (Plot, pour les Anglais) because I have the receipt. It's 3 wide & you could be buried 3 deep, which accounts, when you think about it, for the way stones lean. I also had a photo of the stone, tattoed from head to foot with details of who & when, from the 1970's so I had an idea of what to expect.
What I hadn't expected was that the 2 cute little bushes flanking this stone were now enormous, socking great bushes, behind which the very top of the stone could just be made out.
What the nice Dundee Council Parks lad accompanying the Kiwi tourist hadn't expected was that she'd burst out laughing. His honest little face had paled when he realised she'd travelled 12000 miles & wasn't able to see a damn thing, & the other bloke had the chainsaw & he was off somewhere in the van, and - so I did my best to explain that it was funny, really, & that the bushes had been protecting the stone & if he could trim them a bit I'd be back tomorrow. His shoulders went back down & he was relieved & happy.
What I hadn't expected, on my return, was that he'd located the chainsaw & gone to it with a right good will - straight down the middle of both of them. The stone was exposed & squinting in the unaccustomed light. I hope the bushes survived. It probably wouldn't have happened if my accent hadn't made such an effort & come all that way.