'Long dead.' He turned his head and returned his attention to a detailed examination of the weathered stone block. 'I wonder what his life was like?' She was busy unpacking the picnic that they had brought with them. She gazed at the steel grey sky, and held out her open hand: palm upwards. 'I think that it might rain.' The words were not directed at him, so she didn't mind that he did not respond. 'It always blows my mind when I come to places like this.' He turned towards her and watched her setting out the sandwiches that she had prepared that morning. 'What was that?', she asked without interest. 'About this, you know?' He swept his arm around the ruined castle within which they were about the eat. 'About what?' 'All of this,' he replied excitedly. 'Look at all those stones.' She looked. 'Someone placed them there almost 1000 years ago. Someone who breathed and ate and drank and slept, and...' 'A medieval bricklayer', she interjected. 'Exactly! A medieval bricklayer who was probably married and had children... He might even have been one of our ancestors; a direct blood relation!' 'That would be exciting', she said aloud. 'Not', she thought. 'Don't you ever wonder what it must have been like back then?' He was like a small boy. 'Not really,' she replied. 'I can imagine. I don't think that it would have been very pleasant.' 'I guess not,' he said, slightly deflated, 'but it is fascinating to think that I can touch a stone that was shaped and put in place by a living, breathing person almost 1000 years ago. That person is long dead, and we'll never know anything about him or his life and his worries, but we can still see and touch the product of his labour. How many people here today will leave behind something that will last so long?' She looked up, 'Certainly not the man who built our garden wall. I'll be surprised if it lasts the winter. Now come away from that wall and have a coffee before the rain comes on.'