PRESERVING THE GRAVESTONES.
Mankind in all ages and in all places has recognized the sanctity
of the burial-place. Among the New Zealanders, when they were first
revealed to Europeans as savages, the place of interment was _tapu_,
or holy. The wild and warlike Afghanistans have also a profound
reverence for their burial-grounds, which they speak of expressively
as "cities of the silent." Among the Turks the utmost possible respect
is paid to the resting-places of the dead, and nowhere, perhaps (says
Mrs. Stone in "God's Acre"), are the burial-places so beautiful.
The great and increasing size of Turkish cemeteries is due to the
repugnance of the people to disturbing the soil where once a body has
been laid. The Chinese and the inhabitants of the Sunda Isles
(says the authority just quoted) seem to vie with each other in the
reverence with which they regard the burial-places of their ancestors,
which almost invariably occupy the most beautiful and sequestered
sites. The graves are usually overgrown with long grasses and
luxuriantly flowering plants. In like manner the Moors have a
particular shrub which overspreads their graves, and no one is
permitted to pluck a leaf or a blossom.
The simple Breton people are deeply religious, and their veneration
for the dead is intense. They are frequently to be seen--men, women,
and children--kneeling on the ground in their churchyards, praying
among the graves. It may therefore be well believed that in the period
of burial reform which overspread the Continent in the earlier part of
the nineteenth century there was great opposition in Brittany to the
establishment of remote cemeteries. The thought of burying elsewhere
than in the parish churchyard was to the minds of the parishioners a
species of impiety. When reasoned with they would answer:
"Our fathers were buried here, and you would separate us from our
dead. Let us be buried here, where our kinsfolk can see our graves
from their windows, and the children can come at evening to pray."
In vain they were shewn the danger of accumulating corpses in a place
which was usually in the centre of the population. They shook their
heads and cried:
"Death comes only by the will of God."
Possibly, to some extent, this feeling is universal among mankind.
There is in our hearts an innate reverence for the burial-place; we
tread by instinct lightly over the sleeping-places of the dead, and
look with silent awe upon their tombs. The feeling being part of our
humanity, we might suppose it to be universal, and be apt to conclude
that, in our more primitive churchyards at least, we should find some
effort to preserve the whole or a large proportion of the memorials
which are there dedicated to departed merit, hallowed by love and
made sacred by sorrow. But it may truthfully be said that of all the
headstones (not to speak alone of _decorated_ headstones) which were
set up prior to the beginning of the nineteenth century, by far the
greater number have disappeared! Indeed the cases in which the old
churchyards have been the objects of any care whatever are lamentably
few, while attempts to preserve the old gravestones are almost
unknown. The ordinary experience is to find the churchyard more or
less neglected and forgotten, and the grey and aged stones either
sinking into the earth or tottering to their fall. It cannot be
imagined that the clergy, the wardens, and the sextons have failed to
see these things; but they have, presumedly, more pressing matters
to attend to, and it seems to be nobody's business to attend to such
ownerless and worthless objects.
Some gravediggers will tell you that the natural destiny of the
gravestone is the grave! They will shew you the old fellows slowly
descending into the ground, and they have heard the parson say
perhaps that the "trembling of the earth" will in time shake them all
inevitably out of sight. I have heard it mentioned as an article of
belief among sextons that a hundred years is the fair measure of a
head-stone's "life" above ground, but this reckoning is much too short
for the evidences, and makes no allowance for variable circumstances.
In some places, Keston for instance, the church is founded upon a bed
of chalk, and out of the chalk the graves are laboriously hewn. It is
obvious therefore that the nature of the soil, as it is yielding or
impervious, must be a prime factor in the question of survival. It
may be granted, however, that our progenitors in selecting their
burial-grounds had the same preference for a suitable site as we have
in our own day, and, notwithstanding exceptions which seem to shew
that the church and not the churchyard was the one thing thought of,
the law of a light soil for interments is sufficiently regular to give
us an average duration of a gravestone's natural existence. The term
"natural" will apply neither to those fortunate ones whose lives are
studiously prolonged, nor of course to the majority whose career is
wilfully, negligently, or accidentally shortened. But that, under
ordinary circumstances, the stones gradually sink out of sight, and
at a certain rate of progression, is beyond a doubt. Two illustrations
may help the realization of this fact, such as may be seen in hundreds
of our churchyards.
[Illustration: FIG. 80. BETHNAL GREEN.
Illustration: FIG. 81. PLUMSTEAD.
SINKING GRAVESTONES.]
The sketch of Bethnal Green (Fig. 80) was made just as the churchyard
was about to undergo a healthy conversion, and it marks a very long
period of inaction.
The Plumstead case (Fig. 81), though less extreme, is even more
informing, as it seems to measure the rate at which the disappearance
goes on; the dates on the three stones coinciding accurately with
their comparative depths in the ground. Whether the motion of the
earth has any influence in this connection need not now be discussed,
because the burying of the gravestones may be accounted for in a
simple and feasible manner, without recourse to scientific argument.
It is undoubtedly the burrowing of the worms, coupled with the wasting
action of rain and frost, which causes the phenomenon. Instead,
however, of the sexton's supposititious century, the period required
for total disappearance may more accurately be regarded as from 200
to 250 years. It has been found by careful observation in a few random
cases that the stones subside at the rate of about one foot in forty
or fifty years, and, as their ordinary height is from 5 feet to 5 feet
6 inches, we can readily tell, providing the rate rules evenly,
the date when any particular stone may be expected to vanish. In
confirmation of this theory is the fact that scarcely any headstones
are discoverable of a date earlier than 1650, and whenever they have
been left to their fate the veterans of 150 years have scarcely more
than their heads above ground. Wherever we find otherwise, it may be
assumed that conscientious church officers or pious parishioners have
bethought them of the burial-ground, lifted up the old stones and set
them once more on their feet. Of recent years there has grown up and
been fostered a better feeling for the ancient churchyards, and the
ivy-clad churches of Hornsey and Hendon may be cited as examples
familiar to Londoners in which the taste engendered by a beautiful
edifice has influenced for good its surroundings. In both churchyards
are many eighteenth-century stones in excellent preservation. Neither
place, however, has yet been "restored" or "reformed" in the modern
sense, and there is no reason why it should be. In many places, as the
town grows and spreads, it is well to convert the ancient graveyard
into a public garden, so that it be decently and reverently done. But
this ought never to be undertaken needlessly or heedlessly. There are
scruples of individuals to be regarded, and a strong case ought always
to exist before putting into effect such a radical change. But it
usually happens that transformation is the only remedy, and nothing
short of a thorough reaction will rescue God's Acre from the ruin and
contempt into which it has fallen. Yet we should ever remember that,
whatever we may do to the surface, it is still the place where our
dead fathers rest.
"Earth to earth and dust to dust,
Here lie the evil and the just,
Here the youthful and the old,
Here the fearful and the bold,
Here the matron and the maid,
In one silent bed are laid."
The utilitarian impulse, though frequently blamed for the
"desecration" of our churchyards, is really less accountable for these
conversions than the culpable neglect which in too many cases has
forced the only measure of correction. Therefore they who would
keep the sacred soil unmolested should take heed that it be properly
maintained. A churchyard is in hopeful case when we see the mounds
carefully levelled, the stones set up in serried ranks, and the turf
between rolled smooth and trimmed and swept. There is no outrage in
levelling the ground. The Christian feeling which clings to the grave,
and even to the gravestone, does not attach to the mound of earth
which is wrongly called the grave. This mound is not even a Christian
symbol. It is a mere survival of Paganism, being a small copy of
the barrow or tumulus, of which we have specimens still standing in
various parts of our islands and the Continent, to mark the sepulchres
of prehistoric and possibly savage chieftains. No compunction should
be, and probably none is, suffered when we remove the grave-mounds,
which is indeed the first essential to the protection and
beautification of an obsolete burial-place. But, if possible, let the
churchyard remain a churchyard; for, of all the several methods
which are usually resorted to for "preservation," the best from the
sentimental view is that which keeps the nearest to the first intent.
There can be no disputing that a churchyard is in its true aspect
when it looks like a churchyard, providing it be duly cared for. Some
persons of practical ideas will, however, favour such improvements as
will banish the least elegant features of the place and range the
more sightly ones midst lawns and flowers; while others, still more
thorough, will be satisfied with nothing short of sweeping away all
traces of the graves, and transforming the whole space at one stroke
into a public playground. The choice of systems is in some degree a
question of environment. Wherever open ground is needed for the health
and enjoyment of dwellers in towns, it is now generally conceded that,
with certain reservations and under reasonable conditions, disused
churchyards--especially such as are neglected and deformed--shall in
all possible cases be transferred from the closed ledger of the dead
to the current account of the living.
The following lines, which were written upon the restoration of
Cheltenham Churchyard, may be applied to most of such instances:
"Sleep on, ye dead!
'Tis no rude hand disturbs your resting-place;
But those who love the spot have come at length
To beautify your long-neglected homes.
How loud ye have been speaking to us all!
But the mammon and the fading pleasures
Of this busy world hath made us deaf.
* * * Forgive the past!
Henceforth flowers shall bloom upon the surface
Of your dwellings. The lilac in the spring
Shall blossom, and the sweet briar shall exhale
Its fragrant smell. E'en the drooping fuchsia
Shall not be wanting to adorn your tombs;
While the weeping willow, pointing downwards,
Speaks significantly to the living,
That a grave awaits us all."
[Illustration: FIG. 82. CHESHUNT.]
[Illustration: FIG. 83. HATFIELD.]
But in rural spots, where there is abundance of room and almost
superfluity of nature, a well-kept churchyard, with all its venerable
features, studiously protected and reverently cared for, is one of the
best inheritances of a country life. Illustrations of this may occur
to most observers, but as a case in point I may refer to Cheshunt,
on the borders of Hertfordshire. Some distance from the town-fringed
highway, the village church, ancient and picturesque, stands amidst
its many generations of people--living and dead--hard by a little
street of old-world cottages. The spot and its surroundings are
beautiful, and the churchyard alone gives proof that the locality has
been under the influence of culture from generation to generation.
In few places are there so many and such artistic specimens of
allegorical carvings on the headstones. The usual experience is to
find one or two, seldom more than a dozen, of these inventions worth
notice, and only in rare instances to light upon anything of the
kind distinctly unique; but at Cheshunt there are more than a hundred
varieties of sculptured design and workmanship, all the stones
standing at the proper angle, and all in good condition.
FIG. 82.--AT CHESHUNT.
"To Mary Lee, died July, 1779, aged 49 years."
In the illustration I selected at Cheshunt the left half of the
picture appears to denote Life and the right half Death. In the
former are the vigorous tree, the towers and fortresses, the plans and
working implements of an active existence. In the latter the withered
tree, with the usual emblems of death and eternity, emphasizes the
state beyond the grave, and in the centre are mushrooms, probably to
point the lesson of the new life out of decay.
Hatfield is another instance of preservation without change, none of
the old stones having, so far as one can judge, been allowed to sink
into the earth, nor, as is too often the case, to heel over, to be
then broken up, carted away, or put to pave the church and churchyard.
There is quite a collection of primitive and diminutive headstones,
carefully ranged against the south wall of Hatfield Church, dating
from 1687 to 1700; and the specimens of carving in the older parts
of the churchyard are of great number and many designs. The one which
appears in the sketch (Fig. 83) is curious by reason of the peculiar
decoration which fringes the upper edge of the stone. It is somewhat
worn away, and I cannot discover whether the ornament was intended for
some sort of aigrette, or, which it closely resembles at the present
time, a string of skulls.
FIG. 83.--AT HATFIELD.
"To the wife of John Malsty (?), died 1713."
There appears here, as elsewhere, to have been a tendency at times to
repeat unduly such familiar figures as the open book, but, as a whole,
Hatfield is a good example of a country churchyard. There are many
other old burial-grounds thoughtfully kept in as good, or even better,
order than the two here quoted; but it is for the respect shewn to the
ancient memorials of the village fathers, rather than the churchyards
themselves, that I have ventured to select them as patterns for
imitation. There is another curious border on a stone in the secluded
but well-kept country churchyard of Northolt, Middlesex.
[Illustration: FIG. 84 NORTHOLT.]
FIG. 84.--AT NORTHOLT.
"To William Cob, died 25th September 1709,
aged 68 years."
Twickenham, in the same county, but now grown into a town, has
modified its churchyard to its needs, without much change, and I
give it a sketch in recognition of a sufficient and not excessive
well-doing. Neither of these two examples call for other remark, being
of simple interpretation.
[Illustration: FIG. 85. TWICKENHAM.]
FIG. 85.--AT TWICKENHAM.
"To Elizabeth (?) Haynes, died 1741, aged
35 years."
But while we find the few to be commended, what a common experience
it is, on the other hand, to come upon a neglected churchyard; the
crippled stones bending at all angles, many of them cracked, chipped,
and otherwise disfigured, and the majority half hidden in rank weeds
and grass. In some places, owing to climatic conditions, moss or
lichen has effaced every sign of inscription or ornament from the old
stones; and there are localities which appear to be really unfortunate
in their inability to resist the destructive influence of the weather
upon their tombs, which, perhaps because they are of unsuitable
material, go to decay in, comparatively speaking, a few years. As a
rule, however, these relics of our ancestors need not and ought not to
prematurely perish and disappear from the face of the earth. Where the
graveyard is still used as a place of interment, or remains as it was
when closed against interments, the sexton or a labourer should have
it in perpetual care. The grass and weeds should be kept in
constant check, and the tombs of all kinds preserved at the proper
perpendicular. If not too much to ask, the application of a little
soap and water at long intervals might be recommended in particular
instances; but all such details depend upon circumstances, and may be
left to the individual judgment. Provided there is the disposition,
there will always be found the way and the means to make the holy
ground a decent and a pleasant place.
Reverence for the dead, especially among their known descendants, will
generally operate as a check upon hasty or extravagant "improvements,"
and it may be expected that those responsible for the administration
of local affairs will, for the most part, when they set about the
beautification of their churchyard, decide to do what is necessary
with no needless alterations. This plan of preservation, as already
intimated, is probably the most desirable. But we know instances,
especially in and around London, where good work has been done by
judiciously thinning out the crop of tombstones, clearing away the
least presentable features of the place, and making the ground prim
with flower-beds and borders. To do this much, and to introduce a few
seats, will leave the graveyard still a graveyard in the old sense,
and requires no authority outside the church. It may be prudent to
take a vote of the Vestry on the subject as a defence against irate
parishioners, but, if nothing be done beyond a decorous renovation of
the burial-ground, the matter is really one which is entirely within
the functions of the parson and churchwardens. Moreover, although it
is not generally known, the expenses of such works are a legal charge
against the parish, provided the churchwardens have had the previous
countenance of their colleagues the overseers. The account for the due
and proper maintenance of the disused churchyard may be sent to the
Burial Board, if there be such a board, and, if not, to the overseers,
and the cost will in any case fall upon the poor-rate. Converting the
ground absolutely into a public garden is quite a different matter,
and, notwithstanding its difficulties, it is the course usually
adopted. First, the consent of the Vestry is imperative, and every
step is carefully measured by a stringent Act of Parliament. A
petition for a faculty must be presented to the Bishop of the diocese,
and before it can be granted there must be an official enquiry in
public before the Diocesan Chancellor--always a profound lawyer,
learned in ecclesiastical jurisprudence. Everybody who has any claim
or objection as to any particular grave-space, or to the whole scheme
altogether, has a right to be heard; all reasonable requests are
usually granted, and the closing order, if made, is mostly full of
conditions and reservations in favour of surviving relatives and
others who have shewn cause for retaining this tomb and that stone
undisturbed. In practice it is found that there are not very many
such claims, but it sometimes happens that serious obstacles are left
standing in the way of the landscape gardener. One almost invariable
regulation requires that places shall be found within the enclosure
for all the old stones in positions where they can be seen and their
inscriptions read; to range them in one or more rows against the
interior of the boundary fence is usually accepted as compliance with
this rule. Injudicious arrangement occasionally obscures some of the
inscriptions, but they are all accessible if required, and anything
is better than extinction. It is earnestly to be hoped that at least
equal care is taken of the memorials in burial-grounds which are less
ceremoniously closed. Where the work is thoughtfully conceived and
discreetly accomplished, much good and little harm is done to a
populous place by clearing the ground, laying out footpaths, and
planting trees and flowers. But the gravestone, the solemn witness
"Sacred to the Memory" of the dead, is a pious trust which demands
our respect and protection, at least so long as it is capable
of proclaiming its mission. When it has got past service and its
testimony has been utterly effaced by time, it is not so easy to
find arguments for its preservation. There is no sense or utility in
exhibiting a blank tablet, and I have seen without scruple or remorse
such superannuated vestiges employed in repairing the church fabric.
But this, be it understood, is only when the stone is irretrievably
beyond _memento mori_ service, and on the clear condition that it is
employed in the furtherance of religious work. It is true that a stone
is only a stone, whatever it may have been used for, but a peculiar
sanctity is in most minds associated with the grave, and we ought not
to run the risk of shocking tender-hearted people by degrading even
the dead memorial of the dead to profane and secular purposes. And
yet, what has become in too many cases of the old gravestones?
The very old ones we may perhaps account for, but where are the
middle-aged ones of the eighteenth century? It cannot be doubted,
alas, that they have in many churchyards been deliberately taken away
and destroyed to make room for new ones. Districts comprising many
parishes may be pointed out with all their old churches in the midst
of their old churchyards, but without one old gravestone standing.
The rule and practice have been to quietly remove the relics of the
forgotten sires in order to dig new graves for a new generation. The
habit, as just said, rules by districts, and this is the case in most
matters connected with the subject of this essay. It is a general and
remarkable truth that "good" and "bad" churchyards abound in groups.
The force of example or the instinct of imitation may explain the
fact, but it affords a sad reflection upon the morality of the
burial-place. Kirke White asks:
"Who would lay
His body in the City burial-place,
To be cast up again by some rude sexton?"
In my experience the chief sinner is not the city, but the country,
sexton.
Other memorials than the headstone are scarcely included in my
subject. Few of the slate slabs which answer the purpose in Wales
and some of the bordering counties can maintain their inscriptions in
legible condition for a very long period, and they are in all respects
inferior to stone in durability. This thought would have given no
anxiety to the writer of some Chapters on Churchyards which appeared
in "Blackwood's Magazine" about 1820. Said he:
"In parts of Warwickshire and some of the adjacent counties, more
especially in the churchyards of the larger towns, the frightful
fashion of black tombstones is almost universal--black tombstones,
tall and slim, and lettered in gold, looking for all the world
like upright coffin-lids.... Some village burial-grounds here have,
however, escaped this treatment, and within the circuit of a few miles
round Warwick itself are many small hamlet churches each surrounded by
its lowly flock of green graves and grey headstones.... some half sunk
into the churchyard mould, many carved out into cherubins with their
trumpeter's cheeks and expanded wings, or with the awful emblems,
death's heads and bones and hour-glasses."
Of the so-called black tombstones I have seen none other than slate.
In a short tour through Wales, in 1898, I found very few old
headstones. Most of the memorials in the churchyards were constructed
of slate, which abundant material is devoted to every conceivable
purpose. There is a kind of clay-slate more durable than some of the
native stones, and even the poorer slate which perisheth is lasting in
comparison with the wooden planks which have been more or less adopted
in many burial-places, but can never have been expected to endure more
than a few brief years. Wherever seen they are usually in decay, and
under circumstances so forlorn that it is an act of mercy to end their
existence.
FIG. 86.--AT HIGH BARNET.
I conclude my English illustrations of the gravestones with one
selected from the churchyard at Kingston-on-Thames, and I leave its
interpretation to the reader.
[Illustration: FIG. 86. HIGH BARNET.]
[Illustration: FIG. 87. KINGSTON-ON-THAMES.]
FIG. 87.--AT KINGSTON-ON-THAMES.
"To Thomas Bennett, died 7th Dec. 1800,
aged 13 years."
The remainder of my unambitious book will be mostly devoted to
impressions gained in Ireland and Scotland and on the Continent in my
autumn holidays.