Cast the First Stone by Margaret Thornton

abbey with the well-informed guide. The site of the original abbey dated from the time of Edward the Confessor who died in 1066. His tomb was there in St Edward’s chapel which had become the focal point of the abbey. There were a myriad of other tombs of the great and the good. Queen Elizabeth the First; her sister Mary; Mary Queen of Scots; and other kings and queens from way back in the times when England was a Catholic country.
    They were allowed a little time to wander around on their own. They remarked on how shabby and worn was the Coronation chair, the ancient throne of the Scottish kings with the stone of Scone beneath it, all a part of the age old tradition of the abbey. Of particular interest to most of them was Poet’s Corner. They marvelled at the tombs, in some cases simple stone slabs let into the floor, commemorating poets such as Geoffrey Chaucer, Edward Spenser, Alfred Lord Tennyson, John Masefield, Robert Browning . . . Composers, writers and actors too; George Frederick Handel, Charles Dickens, Rudyard Kipling, Thomas Hardy, Henry Irving and Lawrence Olivier.
    â€˜What a wealth of talent,’ observed Fiona.
    â€˜And how their memory lives on,’ remarked Diane. Some of the names were very familiar as many of them had studied the various books and poems for their School Certificate Exam.
    Most moving of all, though, was the tomb of the Unknown Warrior, surrounded by red poppies, commemorating the many thousands of soldiers who were killed in World War One and buried without being identified. They had all heard of the carnage of that dreadful war, but more poignant and meaningful to them were the memories of the more recent war. There were a few of the young people who had lost loved ones, an uncle or elder brother, and one of the lads had lost his father.
    It was quite a sombre group who went out of the abbey into the glorious sunshine. Sad thoughts did not linger for long, though, as they boarded the coach again for Mike to take them to the place he had decided they would stop for lunch. This was St James’s Park, which they had passed earlier on their way to Buckingham Palace.
    â€˜You can have an hour here,’ Mike told them as he stopped the coach on Birdcage Walk. ‘Make sure you’re all back here at two o’clock. Try not to be late because I can’t park for long. Off you go and enjoy yourselves.’
    It was noticed that Rita stopped on the coach with Mike as he drove off to find a parking place. The two of them appeared to be getting on very well. Colin and Sheila, too, strode away quickly on their own, no doubt pleased to have some time to themselves.
    St James’s Park was a lovely place to spend an hour, one of the quiet oases of green to be found near to the centre of London, away from the noise and bustle of the city traffic and the crowds of people. It was not all that quiet, though, at lunchtime, as it was a popular place for the office workers to take their ease and eat their packed lunches.Most of the park benches were full with the business men and women and the families who, like the Youth Club group, were holidaying in the capital. Fiona and Diane, with Dave and Andy, who had joined them on leaving the coach, found a shady spot on the grass beneath a spreading sycamore tree, near to the lake.
    The hotel had provided them with a packed lunch; there were two substantial sandwiches, one of ham and one of cheese; an apple; a chocolate Penguin biscuit; a packet of crisps; and an orange drink in a carton. They were all hungry despite the large breakfast they had consumed. The provisions were soon eaten and the waste deposited in a nearby bin.
    â€˜Come on, let’s go and explore,’ said Dave, reaching out a hand to Fiona and pulling her to her feet. ‘You don’t mind do you, you two?’
    â€˜Of course not,’ replied Diane. She winked imperceptibly at Fiona. Things were going just the way she wanted them.
    As they wandered