Ivy
seems almost to be ubiquitous in cemeteries. Either you’ll find it carved
into the stone of a grave marker as decoration, or it will be smothering that
same headstone so you can no longer read the details of who’s buried beneath,
or both!
As
you might easily deduce, when the evergreen and almost indestructible ivy is used
as a decorative element on a headstone it is intended to symbolise immortality
and eternal life, and perhaps also rebirth and regeneration – just think how
resilient a plant ivy is and how, even when you think you’ve removed every last
piece of it from a stone wall, it soon reappears as if by magic. Some people
believe ivy is also symbolic of friendship, faithfulness and fidelity.
The
plant itself can be seen both as a blessing and a curse in a cemetery. On
the positive side, it is an important plant for the environment, providing
nectar and berries, shelter and nesting places for insects, birds, bats and
other beasties. A covering of ivy is also thought to protect monumental
stonework from weather erosion. On the negative side, however, the roots of ivy
can creep between gaps in stonework causing grave monuments and headstones to
crack and become unstable; its weight can cause similar instabilities; it
frequently covers headstone inscriptions making them impossible to read; and if
inexpert attempts to remove ivy can lead to further headstone damage.
How
to deal with ivy is an issue for all authorities who have responsibility for heritage
buildings and monuments, not just those in charge of cemeteries. One of the
problems is that ivy can usually only be effectively eradicated through the use
of herbicides and many heritage authorities have policies not to use chemicals
within their grounds.
I
don’t have the answers to the problems caused by ivy so I’ll let that literary master Charles Dickens have
the last word here. This is the poem that appeared in his novel, Pickwick Papers, which was originally
published in serial form between March 1836 and November 1837.
‘The Ivy Green’
Oh, a dainty plant is the
Ivy green,
That creepeth o’er ruins
old!
Of right choice food are
his meals, I ween,
In his cell so lone and cold.
The wall must be crumbled,
the stone decayed,
To pleasure his dainty whim:
And the mouldering dust that
years have made
Is a merry meal for him.
Creeping where no life is seen,
A rare
old plant is the Ivy green.
Fast he stealeth on, though
he wears no wings,
And a staunch old heart has
he.
How closely he twineth, how
tight he clings,
To his friend the huge Oak
Tree!
And slily he traileth along
the ground,
And his leaves he gently
waves,
As he joyously hugs and crawleth
round
The rich mould of dead men’s
graves.
Creeping where grim death has been,
A rare old plant is the Ivy green.
Whole ages have fled and
their works decayed,
And nations have scattered
been;
But the stout old Ivy shall
never fade,
From its hale and hearty
green.
The brave old plant, in its
lonely days,
Shall fatten upon the past:
For the stateliest building
man can raise,
Is the Ivy’s food at last.
Creeping on, where time has been,
A rare
old plant is the Ivy green.
