While some find cemeteries eerie places I tend to find them interesting for a variety of reasons. This morning the sun shone, a Blue Tit (or was it two?) hustled back and forward from a very small hole in the wall as it fed the chicks inside. two local village dog walkers ignored me from a distance and I was left to enjoy the sunshine and blue sky. Peace and quiet in such places gives the opportunity to think. This small churchyard, with once again a church comprised of millions of red bricks, contains many graves of the wealthier sort from Victorian and Edwardian times. You could tell by the bricked in tombs and iron gates placed there to stop grave robbers removing the corpse, only the rich could afford these. These are actually more for show than effectiveness as I suspect a grave robber wants a fresh corpse, not one weeks old. What is less obvious is the part of the graveyard where the poor were buried, this is unmarked, and who knows how many were laid therein? For a while I mused over one unreadable stone, most were sadly, guarded by a low iron railing, as to the day of this funeral around a hundred years or so ago. Who was he/she? What was the weather? I could imagine the elaborate Victorian hearse, drawn by two horses (there is at least one still in use around here), the mourners gathered around, the vicar and the whole performance. I wondered if anybody today in this village knows who he is?
The setting, when the sun shines, is lovely indeed. The sun, the blue sky, the trees covered in birds and bees, and the green fields behind with growing crops. Another small gate leads to the fields and is irresistible to anyone with a camera! The only disappointment remains the fear of theft that locks all church doors around here. A wise precaution but a nuisance just the same.
It was as I was having a last look around I heard the singing. No-one was to be seen, all was quiet and peaceful. Birds flitted through the trees and a bumble bee buzzed around flowers left at a grave when I heard the song.
"Come and join us
Come and join us"
I got on the bike and decided I had finished my exercise for today. I got home much quicker than I had got here......
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4 comments:
Funny, I also like cemeteries very much. When I come to a new place, I always try to visit one or two, as I too find them being tranquil and peaceful places. I like your pictures, I can almost smell the earth and moss, and hear the bees and the bluetits. But I prefer not to hear the song, though...
I am also fascinated by cemeteries--mostly on account of the historical context, and this is where I am very envious of where you live. For the oldest cemetery that I can recall ever visiting was one in Binghamton, NY with the graves of some Revolutionary War veterans,who died in the early 1800's, which is a relatively new one in comparison to the ones over there that are a thousand years or more old. The cemeteries that could be seen from the interstate down in New Orleans might have been somewhat older than the one in upstate New York, but I never stopped to take a stroll through either one of them.
On a related note, my dad told of digging through several unmarked cemeteries down in both North and South Carolina while he was running a ditching machine when he was still pipelining. Of course, all work would stop just as soon as bones were seen on the conveyor belt, which moved the dirt that was being dug up to the side of the ditch where the pipe for the natural gas pipeline would go. Considering the area, along with the fact of them being unmarked, they may have been the graves of slaves, but I can't remember if he ever found out just who might have been buried at those places.
Beate, I don't wish to hear that song again either....!
Fish, Most ancient burials probably would not have markers, that is why archaeologists keep finding them. The majority of the population would be too poor. Your dad must have found a slave grave. Mind you it could be a plague grave also.
Lovely entry. Thank you for sharing both the thoughts and the pictures. I think you're in England? Reminds me of the semester I spent in Oxford, and I'd walk often to a small little church in a place called Binsey, where the cemetary was particularly sweet.
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