Traces

by Patricia Wiltshire

  I find this concept very appealing and I know that my husband’s molecules and mine will mingle. Our ashes will be spread in the same place so we might even both end up in the same tree or bluebell. How marvellous! When the tree or bluebell die and their corpses decompose, our molecules may be released again and taken up by yet other living things. The elements that make up our bodies will exist as long as the Earth revolves around the Sun.

  The sad thing for me is that I will not be able to know about any of it. I will cease to be. I will not have a physical monument, and I am not so vain that I think anyone will remember me after my nearest and dearest have gone. There will be no musings in a churchyard, or even a municipal cemetery. I am not a lover of poetry, although I always found Gray’s Elegy quite emotional, but my gravestone will not exist to be able to move anyone to write anything. I suppose my monument will be my work and my publications. My words will live on, and rather than in a testament to sentimentality, which graveyards certainly are, evidence of my existence will probably be found in some dusty old library somewhere.

  I am often asked if my experiences with death, rape, and other crimes have affected me. The two deaths that have affected me most in my life were those of my daughter and my grandmother. I still miss my grandmother for her wisdom and comforting presence. My daughter is, and always will be a constant ache, kept deep inside, but visited every day, even after all these years. There is little doubt that their deaths have made me realise that every corpse I have encountered also probably had someone who felt the same about them, and this keeps me respectful and caring, certainly for innocent victims anyway. Although the body on the table means little to me, it does to someone else, and this must be kept in mind at all times. One must remain objective or else it would be difficult to do useful work but one must not forget that a corpse was a person.

  What were the lessons I learned during this life so impinged upon by crime? I certainly learned a few swear words, and I discovered how to keep a vacant expression when my insides were in turmoil. I suppose I have learned to be utterly pragmatic when faced with a problem, and to apply Occam’s razor when those difficulties become intractable. I have had the reputation for being somewhat hard and unsympathetic, although those who really know me understand that I am soft inside. I do not like hurting anyone or anything and certainly will not kill anything unnecessarily. I am very sharp with those who are lazy, dishonest, selfish, and manipulative, and I try to be utterly honest myself. I suppose I genuinely want to be a good person, but whether I achieve my aspiration is for others to say. I hope that people will remember me for being meticulous, hard-working, helpful and, most of all, kind – not much of an epitaph, but respectable enough.

  I wonder what my death will be like? I am certainly not going to have the usual mournful funeral but will try to put together a PowerPoint presentation of my goodbyes, as soon as I get a hint that I am on my way out. I only hope that my grey cells will still be working, that I will die with minimal pain and discomfort, in my own home, in my own bed, in the arms of my darling husband who, ever since I met him, has been my rock and my joy in life.

  Here I am in the scratchy organdie dress from Australia in 1944 (I am 2 years old).

  My first year at grammar school in 1953.

  At graduation for my first degree in Botany. I am 31, unlike my classmates who were all 21.

  My beloved grandmother, Vera May, at the time of her marriage in 1915.

  Teaching students about chalk grassland on the South Downs.

  About heathland on Sussex heath.

  Here I am giving advice to archaeologists in the early 1990s.

  A photo taken during a field survey of bog in Maine with US ecologists in 2008.

  In Knoxville at the University Anthropological Research Facility (Body Farm) with a mummified corpse.

  Taking comparator soil samples at a crime scene.

  Auring a badger digging casefor the RSPCA.

  Teaching police on how to sample a corpse for fungi in Lima, Peru. The ‘corpse’ is a willing student.

  Washing the hair of a decaying corpse to retrieve trace evidence.

  I emerge after sampling the footwells of a burntout car for palynomorphs – never again!

  Looking for trace evidence in the most likely areas of a suspect’s trousers.

  At the microscope – checking the identity of fungal spores against reference material.

  My cat Mickey used to love music!

  The two of us recently engaged – a very happy day.

  David and me on my 77th birthday.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  There are many people to whom I owe a debt of gratitude in my quest for excellence in forensic ecology. The list is long but I must first acknowledge my dear husband, Professor David L. Hawksworth CBE, who has encouraged and helped me in every way. Then, how could I not give credit to Dr Judy Webb, who worked with me for so many years, and whose brilliance in pollen identification has enhanced the development of forensic palynology. Thanks too to Professor Kevin Edwards, my long-time friend, colleague, and sternest critic, who has helped me to maintain high standards, and Peter Murphy, the dearest of friends and colleagues who, in spite of his misgivings about being involved, made so much of my work tolerable. I am indebted to the Institute of Archaeology, University College London, for giving me such good facilities, including technical help by the wonderful and knowledgeable Sandra Bond; and to my colleagues there, particularly Dr Richard Macphail and the late Professor Gordon Hillman, for their intellectual support and lots of fun. I cannot forget my magnificent experiences at King’s College London, both as a student and lecturer. Many doors were opened for me by the inspired teaching, and kindnesses I received, from the staff, particularly from Dr Peter Moore, Professor Bill Bradbeer, the late Dr Francis Rose, and the late Professor Arthur Bell, who continued his help when he became Director of the Royal Botanic Garden, Kew. Thanks too to Professor Frank Chambers and Dr John Daniell at the University of Gloucestershire, and Professor Tony Brown at the University of Southampton, who have all facilitated my work. Then there are so very many students, some of whom were utterly brilliant, but all of whom taught me a lot. Not least, I owe so much to all the clever and astute policemen with whom I have worked over the years, especially Detective Chief Superintendent Paul Dockley, who gave me my first job, Detective Sergeants Bill Bryden MBE, and Doug Bain, who showed such confidence in my work, as well as Detective Superintendent Ray Higgins, the kindest of men.