Grave matters: Penarth Cemetery

Strange as it may seem, I miss not living near Cathays Cemetery, with its depth of history, its park-like grounds, its haven for flora and fauna, and its sense of peace and solitude. I have, however, discovered another cemetery, my local here in Penarth, though it’s only a fraction of the size of Cathays.

According to the Penarth Town Council website, five acres of land for the cemetery were acquired from the Right Honourable Robert George, Lord Windsor, Lord-Lieutenant of Glamorgan and Chief Commissioner of Public Works, on 2 March 1903, though the need for a new cemetery had been signalled many years earlier.

Prior to the opening of the town cemetery, most Penarth burials were in the graveyard around the Church of St Augustine. and as early as 1897 Reverend W. Sweet-Escott wrote to the district council pointing out the need for additional burial space (Evening Express, 20 March 1897). Somewhat surprisingly, the idea of a new cemetery proved to be quite a contentious issue. It wasn’t the cemetery itself that stirred up strong emotions but rather the decision as to whether or not the land would be consecrated, which would affect the cost of a burial. The Nonconformists were not against paying for tombstones, memorials or vaults but disputed the fact that they should have to pay a fee to a rector to perform the burial service.

The cemetery is not mentioned again in the newspapers until 1898, when Cardiff Council tried to amalgamate Penarth with Cardiff, something that was vehemently opposed by the ratepayers of Penarth. Even Cardiff’s promise to provide a new burial ground was not enough to persuade the good people of Penarth (and the town remains separate to this day). 

According to the report in the Evening Express, 21 February 1898,

Mr. A. Mackintosh said that the overtures of Cardiff were premature and pointed to no real advantage. With regard to the cemetery question, Penarth was rich enough to provide its own, and if Penarth people had to take their dead to Cardiff for burial it would simply be adding another terror to death. (Laughter.)

Penarth District Council finally decided to advertise for plans for a new cemetery in April 1901, restricting its call for tenders to Penarth and Cardiff architects only (Barry Dock News, 5 April 1901), though it would appear that nothing came of that advertisement as there is a further report in the Barry Dock News of 11 October 1901 stating that the Council had ‘resolved to re-write the bills of quantity for the proposed new cemetery, and advertise for tenders for same’. It seems much like council matters today – a lot of talk and bureaucracy but not much real action!

The first burial in the new cemetery finally took place in December 1903, and in 1928 the Council acquired a further 2½ acres to bring the total acreage to 7 and the number of burial spaces to 5000. More than one person can be buried in each space, of course, so the most recent burial total stands at over 10,500.

Howver, burial space is once again becoming an issue. On 28 March 2014, the Penarth Times reported that the cemetery was due to run out of burial space in three years – that’s right about now! – so the Council was looking into alternative methods of housing cremated remains. Columbaria, ‘scatter lawns’ and ‘above ground vaults’ were all under consideration, though I haven’t found any reference to a decision in more recent newspapers, and I haven’t noticed any new structures during my visits to the cemetery.

As with most old cemeteries, Penarth’s is an interesting place to explore, for the design and architecture of its buildings and its grave monuments, for the beauty of its wildflowers in the springtime, for the wildlife that inhabits its quiet spaces, and the view from the top of the hill is stunning. I will certainly be visiting again soon.

Grave matters: The time of angels

Angels are a common sight in Christian cemeteries, carved in stone, standing tall at the heads of graves, carrying the wishes of the deceased’s family that their loved one has gone to heaven to dwell in peace forevermore.

Most of the angels guarding the graves at Cathays Cemetery in Cardiff are female, though depictions of two particular male angels are not uncommon elsewhere and can be indentified by the objects associated with them, Michael with his sword and Gabriel with a horn.

The female angels also appear with objects, often wreaths or flowers, or in specific poses with symbolic meaning. Some angels appear to weep, expressing grief over a life too soon cut short, others gaze sorrowfully skyward, perhaps appealing for God’s mercy. Occasionally, an angel will be shown carrying a child, or perhaps embracing the dead person as they escort them on their final journey to heaven. Angels can be young or old, and a grouping of several angels together is said to represent heaven itself.

Just as we would choose a particular type of headstone from a catalogue today, so the Victorians chose their grave markers from the catalogues of monumental masons. It is quite common, therefore, to find almost exact replicas of angel statues in one cemetery, as you can see from the photograph below. Usually no attempt is made to individualise these statues – most are ‘off-the-rack’ creations – but, occasionally, the faces are different. Whether these are an attempt to recall the deceased person or simply a reflection of each mason’s artistic skills, I’m not sure.

Without meaning to seem disrespectful to the dead, statues of angels always remind me of the television programme Doctor Who and one of its scariest alien races, the Weeping Angels. Resembling the stone statues of winged angels in draped clothing that are so common in Victorian cemeteries, these creatures have the ability to move metres in the blink of an eye, as long as no one is looking at them.

Doctor Who is recorded in Cardiff, and various locations around the city have been used in the filming of outdoor scenes, including Cathays Cemetery. So, I have just one piece of advice for you when looking at the photographs in this blog … don’t blink!

The features of the angels shown in the centre and at right appear more individual than most

Grave matters: Ivy

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.

Grave matters: Celtic crosses

The elaborate knotwork of Celtic art has long beguiled me.

I have a lovely gold ring shaped in a knot pattern; I have a book full of charted embroidery patterns adapted from such exquisite works as the stone Crosses of Moone and Muiredach, the metalwork of the Petrie Crown and the Ardagh Chalice, and the incredible illuminated manuscripts of the Books of Kells and Durrow; and I have used simplified versions of these patterns in my knitting designs.

So, during my wanderings around the graveyard that sits adjacent to Llandaff Cathedral and through the extensive grounds of Cathays Cemetery, both here in Cardiff, I find myself attracted again and again to the many fine Celtic cross headstones.

This design is a combination of a cross, with a ring the surrounds the intersection of the two branches of the cross. Though usually labelled a Celtic cross, its origin is something of a mystery. Some sources claim it comes from the 6th century Coptic Church because it resembles the Egyptian Ankh (or key of life); others see its roots in pagan religions, with the circle symbolising both the sun and the eternal circle of life; while the Romans believed it developed from the draping of victory wreaths across the horizontal bars of crosses.

There’s also a popular legend that attributes St Patrick with the idea of combining the Christian cross with the Sun cross to create the Celtic cross, in an effort to convert the Druids and Pagan Irish to the new Christian religion. Whatever its origins, it was adopted by the Celtic tribes of Ireland, Scotland and Wales in medieval times, and is now most often associated with those peoples. It is also the official cross of the Church of Scotland.

In the mid nineteenth century, the Celtic cross became popular as a grave marker, often in conjunction with decorative bands of intricate Celtic knotwork. It was not only used for people of Celtic origin but also for the general public, so it’s not surprising to find many examples in graveyards dating from Victorian times.

All the photographs included here are of crosses I found in the Llandaff Cathedral cemetery. The structural designs, the complex patterns, and the construction materials vary but each cross is a work of superb craftsmanship and intricate beauty.

Grave matters: passionflowers

Draped over a wall just around the corner from where I live is a passionfruit vine. I pass this way almost daily and always marvel at the beauty of its flowers.

Then, during one of my frequent walks through Cathays Cemetery, I noticed how often the passionflower appears on the headstones there. These are mostly stones from the late 19th century, though one is from as recently as 1924. The passionflower sometimes appears alone, sometimes in conjunction with other flowers, like roses and lilies, sometimes with foliage like ivy. It is carved on the stones of both men and women.

I guessed the flower’s presence was something to do with the passion of Christ but didn’t realise how specific the symbolism was until I researched it further. 

Working from the outside inwards, the flower has ten petals which represent the ten apostles. The rays that circle the flower form a nimbus, which, for Christians, is symbolic of the divine glory of Christ. Next come the five stamens representing the five wounds Christ received on the cross. The flower’s ovary is shaped like the hammer that was used to drive the nails into Christ’s hands and feet, and the stigma is divided into three parts which equate to the three days Christ lay in the tomb prior to his resurrection. Coincidentally, the passionflower only blooms for three days. And, lastly, the leaf of the passionfruit vine is shaped like a spearhead, representing the spear that pierced Christ’s side.

Not all stone masons seem to have understood the symbolism, I notice, as not all of their flowers have the precise numbers of petals and stamens but, still, I find it fascinating how much meaning has been attributed to this one little flower and will look with new eyes as I pass that passionfruit vine each day.

‘The thin country’

Cool artwork underground

That’s what Chile’s famous Nobel-prize-winning poet Pablo Neruda called his homeland and, though it certainly is geographically thin, its people are definitely not thin on sentiment or courage, nor are they, generally speaking, physically thin, which is understandable when you see some of the things they eat! But, first, some sightseeing ...

Coming from a non-Metro country and having lived in the totally-unsophisticated-when-it-comes-public-transport city of Cusco for 18 months, I admit to feeling just a little trepidacious when Chris suggested I use the local Metro to get to my first tourist destination on my own in Santiago.

But, armed with a magical plastic card that opened the gates to another world, and with Chris’s trusty handwritten instructions and his ‘Tourist Map, Santiago on Bus’ guide to the public transportation systems of Santiago, I set off – not into the wild blue yonder, but rather into the dimly lit depths of the underground.

Miraculously, I managed to navigate two Metro lines and a change of stations, and found my way in almost the blink of an eye to my destination, Cementerio General, Santiago’s main and very large cemetery. A strange destination, you might think, but cemeteries can be fascinating places and offer a real insight into local culture – you can learn a lot about the living from how they treat their dead.

It was Saturday and the cemetery was crowded, not just with the enormous numbers of deceased but also with an abundance of the living, come to pay their respects, to visit family and friends, to tend and tidy the graves of their loved ones, and to attend funerals, as well as with the workers who clean and maintain the graves and grounds.

There were two main types of grave – the frequently large and often opulent tombs, and the small oblong cells, stretched several rows long and high, like mini apartment blocks.

And what did I learn about Chileans from visiting their cemetery? They seem to have a genuine respect for the departed, who remain a part of their lives – I saw entire families gathered around graves, enjoying a little get-together and, no doubt, gossiping about the latest family news, almost as if the deceased was listening. Little ‘Happy Birthday’ and ‘Merry Christmas’ messages bore witness to visits by family at those special times and, in general, the graves were also very well cared for.

I learned that there is a huge gulf between the ‘haves’ and the ‘have-nots’, between the grand architecturally designed tombs of the wealthy and the stacked tomb blocks of the less well off.

I soon realised that Chileans love their quirky little gizmos as much as the next culture, with fake butterflies, flowers, teddy bears, buzzy bees and ladybirds, and various kinds of plastic wind-catchers featuring amongst the flowers adorning the graves.

I was reminded that florists do well out of death, in every country – the flower sellers’ stalls outside the cemetery gates were bursting with particularly lush and vibrant blooms.

I learned that the dollar comes first – on many ‘street’ corners within the cemetery, a place I would have thought commerce would be banned or at least considered disrespectful, there were people selling drinks and snacks for the living, as well as grave ornaments for the dead.

I also learned that Chileans, though perhaps less effusive than other Latin Americans, can be incredibly friendly and helpful. Two separate old men, both workers tending the graves, approached me, asking if I needed help, wanting to know where I was from when it was obvious I was a foreigner, and then offering information about the cemetery. Unfortunately, I couldn’t understand a lot of what they said, though one pointed me in the direction of the memorial to those lost during the terrible years of oppression, terror and death under General Pinochet’s regime. He explained that he had been 22 when it first started and had seen much bloodshed – he kept mimicking guns shooting and people dropping to the ground, and several times used the word amigos so I assume his friends were among those lost.

Amidst the thousands of deceased that the Cementerio General must contain, that memorial was the saddest spot for me. The reign of terror here in Chile began on 11 September 1973, when tanks rolled in to the streets of Santiago, marking the beginning of a US-funded and supported military coup to overthrow the left-wing socialist government of Salvador Allende – US Secretary of State Henry Kissinger infamously declared that the US should not stand by ‘and let a country go Communist due to the irresponsibility of its people’! Within a couple of years, Pinochet rose to head a dictatorship notorious for the torture, murder, persecution and oppression of hundreds of thousands of Chilean people, and this dark period in Chile’s history did not truly end until 10 March 1990, when a democratic government was once again elected to power. It was a sobering experience to sit and contemplate the thousands of names of the dead and missing who had suffered during that horrible time.

Chorrillanas

I needed cheering up and I was hungry – the two frequently go hand in hand for me! - and Chris had mentioned a restaurant immediately opposite the cemetery’s main entrance so I headed across there to check it out. It is called El Quita Penas, which means remove hardships or remove suffering! Apparently, that’s what happens when you drink too much of the local alcohol. It most certainly does not happen when you eat too much of the local food – in fact, the opposite would happen: your suffering (from bloat and/or indigestion) could quickly increase, your cholesterol levels would almost certainly soar to alarming heights and you could quite easily end up in one of the graves across the street. Maybe the restaurant owner has shares in the cemetery!

I ate little, drank nothing but Pepsi, and escaped with my health intact!