Don’t wait until you’re dead before heading for a graveyard!
I don’t know what is with me, but I have always been fascinated by graveyards. I cannot explain why, but I just love ambling around old graveyards, taking a leisurely stroll and reading the headstones.
There are two distinct types of graveyard visit for me. One is the old graveyards that dot the landscape across Ireland and indeed in countries abroad. There we have local history, a lesson in the changing cultures and use of language over the years, and always fresh thoughts on humanity. Reading the inscriptions, we imagine a family we never knew… and wonder about them.
The second type of graveyard visit is the local burial place of deceased members of our own community. In my case, it is Killulagh, where I now know – or more correctly – have known, most of the residents at rest there.
This one is different, because often grief still hangs in the air around a freshly filled grave. Loved ones interned include my parents, both sets of grandparents, family members and loads of old friends. Master Lawlor, is there; Jobber McGrath, O’Farrells, Fordes, Kiernans, Cosgroves, Hyneses, memories since childhood and many more. This is where I too shall finish up; and maybe my grã for this graveyard has something to do with the fact that I always like to familiarise myself with the neighbours prior to moving in!
There was a lesson in our English textbook, entitled ‘The Midnight Ride’ in sixth class in Johnstown school. It was the story of Paul Revere in 1775 riding his horse all night to get to Lexington to warn that the British were coming. Master Lawlor brought every such story so much to life that I never forgot a word of it.
It was a long road from Johnstown school to Boston; but one day I stood at Paul Revere’s grave and felt choked up by the wonder of it all. Similarly, learning WB Yeats on that same school spot – and many years later standing by his grave in Drumcliffe, County Sligo. I have walked among the famous names in Glasnevin Cemetery a couple of times and certainly another visit is on the cards.
Old graveyards are often quite beautiful, surrounded by trees and stone walls. Ivy and an abundance of shrubbery mean that the birds sing more there, where they have cover and are less likely to be disturbed. It is a time to reflect on one of the most peaceful places on Earth.
Graveyards are not only for the dead. They play an important role for the living as well. It is good for us, especially when we get ‘too big for our boots’, to go visit our local graveyard and pause and reflect on the fact that it ‘won’t always be the other fellow’!
Cemetery devotions once a year is a wonderful custom. The graves are all adorned with flowers as families gather to honour their departed kith and kin. For me, the most wonderful part of this Sunday gathering is that I get, once a year, to meet old friends and neighbours I might otherwise never see again. Instead of what might sound like a sad day, it turns out to be a joyous one; the combined meetings of the living and the dead make for the perfect reunion.
I would like to tell you about one unique grave in Killulagh graveyard, and it is that of my Uncle Willie Mulligan. Willie died at the age of 32, five years before I was born.
Willie was a blacksmith – and a very good one by all accounts. He had his own forge at Reynella and had established a successful business. In those days, a blacksmith did much more than shoe horses. As an example of that, I was always told that Willie made all of his own tools, except the anvil. My brother Sean has a ‘handed down’ tongs made by our uncle.
My uncle was ailing for a year before he died and getting weaker all the time. When he died, the business died with him and the forge never reopened. In time, Granda Mulligan got around to clearing Willie’s tools and personal stuff to take home. One thing he found was a cross that Willie had forged out of iron and it was one of the last pieces of work the young blacksmith completed.
At first, the family assumed that Willie had done that work for a customer who never came back for it; but the realisation soon dawned that my uncle possibly knew he was dying and made the cross for his own grave. Granda put it on his grave, where it remains to this day, more than 80 years later. My Uncle Willie made the cross for his own grave.
You never know what you might find in a graveyard – so don’t wait till you’re dead to check it out!
Don’t Forget
Happiness is a by-product of achievement.