do i think going for a walk in a cemetery that’s open to the public 24/7 with a footpath and garden and everything is fucked up and immoral? no??? what the fuck???????????
i think it’s fucked up that we’ve made death, an inevitable thing that happens to everyone, into such a taboo subject that enjoying spending time in places where dead people exist is offensive and sinister to you
A few inscriptions on tombstones I photographed one day in Canongate Kirkyard, Edinburgh:
- To the memory of Janet Cox, Wife of the Reverend Dr. Belfrage, Slateford; Who departed this Life, 28th March, 1821, Aged 35 Years; This Monument is Erected, as a tribute of Affection and Regret, by her husband. She was lovely in her life, as a Devoted Partner, Enlightened Companion, and Faithful Frind; and on her death bed Exemplified the Resignation with which the Christian can suffer, and the Peace with which the Christian can die.
- Sacred to the memory of James L. Maxwell who died 18th April 1876, aged 75 years. And of Mary Welsh his wife who died 26th February 1872, aged [68] years. Also of their children William, died [12th] Sept. 1840, aged 8 [½] years. Mary Welsh, died 30 Sept. 18[42], aged 4 ½ years. William L., died 17th March 1844, aged 15 months. Alexander, died [6]th Sept., 1845, aged 5 ½ years. John Welsh, died [19]th June 184[6], aged 14 months. Adam, died 26th Sept. 1848, aged [6] months. Whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die. John [11:26]
- In memory of James Blyth who died 6th June 1829, Aged 39 years. And Agnes his daughter who died 12th June 1827, Aged 17 months. And Marion Kerr his wife who died 18th March 1871, Aged 80 years.
- Sacred to the Memory of Margaret Davidson, for [38] years the faithful housekeeper of the late Rev. John Clark M.A., minister of the old church St Giles Edinburgh, who died on the 18th April 1862. William Wright, died 4th October 18[63] aged [??] years, for many years the faithful servant of the Rev. John Clark M.A.
- In loving memory of my dear husband, Pte. J. A. McConnell, Black Watch, son of the late Peter McConnell, killed in action 25th May 1918 aged 35 years. Interred at Hazelrouch.
Because I walked through these cemeteries and took these pictures, I now know (and so do you) that Janet Cox fell ill and died at age 35, and that her husband, a minister, loved and respected her so much that he wanted the world to know that she went right on impressing the hell out of him even when she was dying. That James and Mary Welsh Maxwell buried six of their children, and then lived another quarter of a century together. That Marion Kerr Blyth lost her baby daughter and her husband two years apart, and lived another 40 years without them. That the Rev. John Clark at St. Giles erected a monument to his servants among the headstones of merchants and scholars and architects. That Mrs. J. A. McConnell may never have visited her husband’s grave in France, but she had somewhere to leave flowers for him in Scotland.
And all those people erected those monuments so that you and I would know those things. They didn’t write those things for themselves; they already knew them. They wrote them, in stone, so that long after they were gone, people would still be able to read them, and would know these things. Because human lives are fragile and temporary, and when you lose someone, you can’t bear the thought that they’re just gone and that soon no one will know they were ever here.
At the churchyard near my house there’s the grave of two very young boys who died during the Victorian era. I always felt very sorry for them so I played Pokemon Go with them once.
