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.