Let me take you now to a construction site in the north of England where a car-park, first laid in the 1950s, is being dug up.
A corpse is uncovered. Work stops and the police are summoned. Foul play is suspected and talk is of a gangland killing linked to the abandoned club whose car park it was.
Soon, many are present from multiple agencies and departments for it transpires to be a cemetery belonging to another vacant building, a chapel.
Work now is suspended for weeks because, in cases like this, great care and detail is taken in establishing the identities of those interred so descendants can choose re-internment or simple cremation.
When all efforts have failed, the uncared for and the unknown are consigned to the flame with what is known of them carefully recorded.
Do not fail to underestimate the care and diligence of those who are assigned this task. The variety of whom, by law and necessity, vary considerably.
Their work, one day, was brought to a halt. Opening a coffin whose preservation was aided by tarmac, a young girl was revealed. Dressed in a long night dress she held a wooden doll. Dolls, over 150 years ago, were often made of wood and simple by today’s standards yet featured with moving limbs and head.
They had lain together for nearly two hundred years.
The impact of this tragic scene led to a cessation of work for the day.
The following morning it was soon discovered the doll was gone. Stolen.
Nothing more was found as to who this little girl was but, what is known, is someone carefully placed that favourite doll, perhaps her only doll, in her arms for her to hold close to her as she made her final journey.
Her final journey was in an unmarked van to a facility on the edge of town.
She made that journey alone.