Who leaves the water?

When my grandfather passed away i was 8, his passing opened up a different kind of relationship with my grandmother.
One where we would spend more time together, I would stay for sleep overs and gradually she became funny, vivacious and full of laughter. 

My grandfather Victorian in temperament was raised by his Victorian grandparents so it's little surprise really, he was a product of his environment he grew up in! 

One little ritual me and grandma used to do whenever I'd visit was tend to grandad's plot, lay fresh flowers and as grandma was doing this I would dart between the headstones in the tiny village cemetery, weaving in and out, dashing up the path to fetch water for grandma. 

One day she took my hand and guided me through the headstones, when we stopped she said "this is my grandparents, that there is my Aunt Jesse and Uncle Bill, there's their son Percy, over there is Auntie Mary, this one is your grandad's grandfather, and his mother next to it, my cousin is over there next to the gate, your great grandma is this one here, my Aunt Masie is near the hedge and you remember Uncle Charles, he is in a plot next to that wall!" 
And the stones became representative of people with stories which I was told, it sparked a love of genealogy but, was something me and grandma used to do together, monthly we would care for the plots and replace dead flowers with new and remove dead leaves, until Grandma moved away from the village to live closer to us. 
Now in her 91st year she still has a sparkle in her eye but doesn't get to visit the cemetery as much, so Its my job, about once a month and today was my monthly visit. 
There is always water left in the chapel which is no longer in use, and I've always took it for granted that there is just water there ready, but today it's left me wondering, who leaves the water?