I was on a bus driving through bushland when I saw, not wildlife, but an Edwardian funeral hearse slowly emerging, almost sailing, out from a track between the trees, onto the road. I suppose I saw it for about half a minute, and possibly my imagination instantly embellished the vision. It was elegant, regal, gleaming. Eerie. Romantic. Ominous. The windows were etched. There were silver knobs. It was the gift that stimulated my imagination, that put in motion the story that became Family Skeleton. I followed the hearse. Well, figuratively, I followed the hearse.