What should we put in our time capsule of the plague year?

The ladies of my church knitting circle (note, we are open to those who identify ‘-otherly’, and to practitioners of diverse crafts) are an enterprising bunch, and no techno slouches either. Unbowed by Covid, we have continued to meet via Zoom, bringing along our own tea, cake and creative endeavours. We love a project, and we now have one: a time capsule of the plague year.

This idea is so far proving to be more a feasibility study than a done deal. There are so many decisions to make. What size should the capsule be? Where will it be stored? When will it be reopened, and by whom? And what will they find when they do?

A ruling on the size of the container is still at committee stage, though I believe it’s unlikely to be large enough to accommodate that icon of First Lockdown Madness: a toilet roll.

The decision not to bury our capsule was reached unanimously. In a parish built on granite, why make life any harder? Our sealed box will be stashed in the vestry, to be opened 50 years from now.

Fifty years is a modest lifespan for a time capsule. We chose it on the basis that there may then be people, now children, still around to witness the opening and remember this strange year. Those of us who wonder whether the church will even be functioning by 2071 keep our doomy thoughts to ourselves.

So, assuming our capsule hasn’t been binned during the conversion of the church into a vegan restaurant, who is going to remember to open it and with due ceremony? How can we, who will long be in our graves, remind such a person that the time has come? One of our members (crochet and tech support) has been tasked with finding out if any event reminder apps have calendars as far ahead as 2071.