Lovely piece, Anne. I grew up in Sheffield and lived near two cemeteries.
The first was the gaveyard of the old Quaker Meeting House, where we lived when I was very young. The second was the General Cemetery, opposite my road for most of my childhood.
The General Cemetery was also a nature reserve, and a park. I walked through it almost every day. Quite a knot of memories of that place.
I remember talking to a Spanish student at Uni who was horrified by how unkempt our graveyards are. How disrespectful. But even when we cut back the brambles, it always feels they should be a little wild.
I never made it to Sheffield General Cemetery when I lived there, but there used to be an excellent website which told the stories of people buried there. Having looked just now, I can only assume it was what is now https://gencem.org/, which is a beautiful site in its own right, but not the rougher and readier site I originally found back about (yeesh!) seventeen years ago. Echoing my view of graveyards, there is something to be said for the wilder places. (I am sure it must have been a site for the General Cemetery, as I remember vividly the writing about the engineer who built the Dale Dyke Dam. That has stayed with me over the years.)
A lovely piece. I do enjoy graveyards; the peaceful atmosphere, the flora and fauna, and the insight into the people buried there when there is a lengthy description on the headstone. You mentioned 'the silent anonymity of the people the graves are meant to mark' which is poignant as often there is only a name, which doesn't give much information about a person. When I formerly worked as an archaeologist, we had a small job to do in a graveyard and as I pulled back a turf a small skull was exposed. I remember sitting wondering whether it was a child or a woman and what their backstory was. There was no stone nearby to give any clues; bones can migrate across graveyards due to the digging of later graves and the actions of burrowing animals. It was a very quiet moment between me and that silent, anonymous skull.
I absolutely loved reading this. Thank you! I have always loved old graveyards - much more than the newer, pristine ones; possibly because (I realise, as I type) I have never visited a graveyard to visit a grave of someone I knew (living, as we do, in the age of the crematorium). I see them as a cohesive, beautiful, wild entity in their own right -- something you have captured perfectly here.
This is so lovely, Anne. Such a beautiful, fascinating graveyard.
Thank you! So many good memories of work parties too.
Lovely piece, Anne. I grew up in Sheffield and lived near two cemeteries.
The first was the gaveyard of the old Quaker Meeting House, where we lived when I was very young. The second was the General Cemetery, opposite my road for most of my childhood.
The General Cemetery was also a nature reserve, and a park. I walked through it almost every day. Quite a knot of memories of that place.
I remember talking to a Spanish student at Uni who was horrified by how unkempt our graveyards are. How disrespectful. But even when we cut back the brambles, it always feels they should be a little wild.
I never made it to Sheffield General Cemetery when I lived there, but there used to be an excellent website which told the stories of people buried there. Having looked just now, I can only assume it was what is now https://gencem.org/, which is a beautiful site in its own right, but not the rougher and readier site I originally found back about (yeesh!) seventeen years ago. Echoing my view of graveyards, there is something to be said for the wilder places. (I am sure it must have been a site for the General Cemetery, as I remember vividly the writing about the engineer who built the Dale Dyke Dam. That has stayed with me over the years.)
A lovely piece. I do enjoy graveyards; the peaceful atmosphere, the flora and fauna, and the insight into the people buried there when there is a lengthy description on the headstone. You mentioned 'the silent anonymity of the people the graves are meant to mark' which is poignant as often there is only a name, which doesn't give much information about a person. When I formerly worked as an archaeologist, we had a small job to do in a graveyard and as I pulled back a turf a small skull was exposed. I remember sitting wondering whether it was a child or a woman and what their backstory was. There was no stone nearby to give any clues; bones can migrate across graveyards due to the digging of later graves and the actions of burrowing animals. It was a very quiet moment between me and that silent, anonymous skull.
beautiful moment, thank you for sharing!
I absolutely loved reading this. Thank you! I have always loved old graveyards - much more than the newer, pristine ones; possibly because (I realise, as I type) I have never visited a graveyard to visit a grave of someone I knew (living, as we do, in the age of the crematorium). I see them as a cohesive, beautiful, wild entity in their own right -- something you have captured perfectly here.
Thank you so much! Agreed, this kind of graveyard has much more personality.