A churchyard matter

Last week my father told me when I was down for a visit that the grave of his sister, who died last September aged 94, was in a state of some disrepair in a nearby churchyard – he knew this because he’d recently visited it in the company of my brother.

Yesterday, having completely a food shop in a nearby village, I detoured on my way home to go to said churchyard to see said grave for myself. My father had not been wrong.

Firstly, the grave was marked only by a rather unworthy tiny wooden cross containing my aunt’s name.

Secondly, even though I had been expecting that my aunt would have been buried beside or on top of her husband – my uncle Simon – so that they could ‘rest eternally together’, there was no indication that his grave or anything resembling his headstone was in the vicinity. These facts had then prompted me to spend some minutes wandering around the churchyard looking for the same in case my dementia has caused to misdirect myself as to their location.

Upon returning to my father’s abode I reported my observations.

Ironically and happily, however, by tea-time our subsequent musings upon what might have been going on (embarked upon only because one didn’t wish to cast aspersions upon the apparent lack of care and attention that the immediate family had given to the matter) were proved correct and my father’s earlier concerns unwarranted.

My godson – my aunt’s grandson – had phoned the house just before lunch to say he was in the vicinity and could he pop over to pay his respects? Of course he could.

At some point during our hour’s catch-up conversation on extended family news, I raised the matter of my aunt’s grave, saying that we’d recently visited it and, noting its current low-key, unfinished state, had presumed the causes were that (1) they were waiting for the ground to settle and (2) my uncle’s headstone had been sent away to have my aunt’s details added at the bottom.

The answers to both these speculations on my part was affirmative.

What I hadn’t appreciated previously in my life was my godson’s additional comment, i.e. that it is common practice to wait for 12 to 18 months before placing – or replacing – a gravestone because apparently it can take up to that long for the disturbed ground caused by a burial to settle properly.

You live and learn, don’t you?