It's the fourth Friday of the year. And still I miss the habit, the discipline, the connection with the land below our windows. Throughout last year, on every Friday (well, almost, I was away for one and had to make do with a Thursday), I'd get up in the morning and take photos of Rosebank cemetery, spreading out five floors below. Then post them in the blog that was intended to record who that view changed across the seasons. (http://pilriggraveyardlife.blogspot.co.uk/)
Not that seasons bring dramatic change on a weekly basis, so it often felt like one week's view was pretty much identical to the next, and only during Spring and Autumn was there anything like the rate of transformation which justified seven day intervals. To make more interesting, for myself as much as the few people who followed the posts regularly, I took to going for walks in the graveyard.
I've always liked cemeteries. As a child I can remember one in the Borders that fascinated me, so old were some of the markings on the gravestones. Rosebank only has Victorian origins, so there's not much ancient history to be had down there, but it has it's own interest. And it's still active, with burials taking place regularly, so there's a surprising amount of activity down there. The funeral ceremonies themselves, regular mourners who come to tend the graves and pay their respects, gardeners, maintenance workers, people seeking out the Gretna Memorial, foxes, squirrels, magpies....
Walking around made me realise just how big the place is. Alongside the change of seasons over the course of the year, marked by the alteration in the vegetation, there's the slower pace of change reflected in the layout of the graves, the styles of the headstones, the nature of the inscriptions, the slow build up of the dead being interred, one by one, beneath that grassy covering. I took time to read the words people had chosen to mark the passing of their relatives. Or, no doubt, chosen for themselves in advance. There are several large egos buried down there as well as the bodies.
But a year was enough to show how it all alters in appearance and that was time to call a halt. My one regret remains the lack of a decent snowfall, which would have added something further to the variety of the picturescape. There's been none here this year. So far. If February or March obliged there might yet be one final blog post, and an excuse to don boots and go walking through the white, between the elaborate masonry work, recording a softer yet starker side to the beauty of this world of trees and grass and dead people.
One last chance - please.
No comments:
Post a Comment