On Monday 18th October a very smart van arrived at one of the Albany Road Historical Cemeteries. It had on both sides and the back of the van in large letters both the website and email address of the Commonwealth War Graves Commission and the attractive insignia of that commission all in black and white on the white van.
On Monday 18th October a very smart van arrived at one of the Albany Road Historical Cemeteries. It had on both sides and the back of the van in large letters both the website and email address of the Commonwealth War Graves Commission and the attractive insignia of that commission all in black and white on the white van.
I was thrilled to meet Moses and his two assistants who were checking up on the condition of the graves of soldiers who had died in the First and Second World Wars and whose graves are in our cemetery. I have long been caring for family graves in the Albany Road Cemetery. My husband’s mother and great grandfather are buried there, as well as other related family members.
Barber, Wood and Currie are family names, and then there is Whitnall because I live in Whitnall Street. I added in other well known names because they are a part of the history of Grahamstown.
This last year, because of the erection of the palisade fencing, I have put in a considerable amount of work there with the assistance of my son Alex and Barney Kepe. We have found the work rewarding, seeing the beauty of the cemetery coming to life again.
The cutting of the grass by the Parks and Recreation Department has been a huge help as well as the continuation of the drought, which has stopped the re-growth of weeds and grass enabling us to get on with our work. This includes picking up rubbish as well as tidying up the rubble formed from vandals breaking out the ironwork from cement foundations.
We have pieced together marble crosses and righted those overthrown headstones not too heavy for us to lift. We were encouraged in August with the visit of others from Gauteng who came to restore the tombs and graves of soldiers killed in the ethnic wars during the nineteenth century. They also restored the War Memorial back to its former glory. That was a real plus but, unfortunately, ignorant people came in and saw fit to remove the new iron crosses that had been put in to commemorate these men.
This particular vandalism I lay at the feet of those in charge of the affairs of Grahamstown, our city councillors. The palisade fencing around the whole cemetery was not completed. It looks good from Albany Road but there is a stretch on the railway side that is without protective fencing. I cannot think why – unless the powers that be are unaware of the valuable asset they are supposedly in charge of and, are not able to comprehend how valuable.
Vandals are easily able to access the cemetery on the railway side and are thus continue their filthy work of stealing. The Police have apprehended thieves on more than one occasion but, they have been let off by the courts within a day or so, for whatsoever reason. Our presence in the cemetery has frightened off those thieves who were blatantly coming in by day.
With 2012 fast approaching to commemorate the founding of Grahamstown and after that 2020 to commemorate the coming of the British Settlers to this area, I am of the mind that the Commonwealth War Graves Commission is getting ready for these momentous events in the history of South Africa. There are tourists who visit the graves of the soldiers and the places of great battles. The Eastern Cape in this area is rich with such memories.
Other tourists will be coming to Grahamstown and to the cemeteries in particular to search out their ancestors and make contact with the names of early settlers such as William Atherstone, Bishop Merrimen and Galpin the amateur scientist as well as the town’s watchmaker. This all has valuable economic potential as a source of economic empowerment for those willing to learn to be tour guides and who are able to expound the history of lives of people long ago.
There are many ancestors buried in the cemeteries, of people still living in Grahamstown. I hope all of you would take an interest in the family grave or graves and make them beautiful with indigenous plants so that the cemetery may be like a little botanical garden, recording not only people but our beautiful flora as well. Why Do I Like Working In The Cemetery? This I do have to ask myself, for others do not see the point of looking after graves or the cemetery. I have to ask myself why, in the face of what may be a criticism.
Am I not wasting my time and energy on something that is dead? Should Christians be concerned only with those who are alive? I like the old cemetery. I find much beauty there in the little plots that are the graves. I do not know if they were planned ahead of time by the person in the grave or whether they were designed by the relatives of the deceased.
Each one is different and in a way unique. Some are indeed monuments of remembrance to someone that was loved and revered. Some are very elaborate and others are, one feels, duty done. Name and date, born and died. There is something else, however. There is fashion in the choice of grave stones and how the little plot is laid out. Maybe it is according to what was available and for sale at that time.
Also, there might be a certain element of keeping up with the Jones’s. One looks to see what others did for their parents, likes what one sees, and does the same. Or perhaps one tries to be a little better, if one has sufficient funds. There are also the sad little plots where nothing has been done and the space is empty. There are even sadder plots where the plot is so tiny that you know immediately that it is a baby or a child. There are so many of those and each one is lovingly remembered. One is touched by the love that has chosen the statue or cross, and the inscription recording a tiny soul, sometimes only a day old.
Suddenly one is aware of the value of a newborn babe. Each was wanted and adored even though not yet a little person, with the promise of a new daughter or son to have and to hold. Our historical cemeteries are Christian cemeteries, and it amuses me a little that they are laid out according to denomination. I suppose that was for finding ones loved one easily and maybe to keep him or her among their friends.
When I am in the cemetery I am also thoughtfully reminded of the last verse in Isaiah, as it was meant to remind people of that time, as they went in and out of their cities past the graves of unbelievers. “And they shall go forth, and look upon the carcases of the men that have transgressed against me: for their worm shall not die, neither shall their fire be quenched; and they shall be an abhorring unto all flesh.”
It is no longer considered politically correct to talk about hell and the everlasting fire for those who do not know Jesus Christ as Lord and Saviour. Maybe that is why people no longer take care of the cemetery. They do not want to appear judgmental in any way of other religions that deny Jesus as Lord of all and, that only those whose names are written in the Lamb’s Book of Life will go to heaven.
Jesus has said that, “He shall send his angels with a great sound of a trumpet, and they shall gather together his elect from the four winds, from one end of heaven to the other,” Matthew 24:31. Paul says in 1 Corinthians 15:52, “In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump; for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised, incorruptible, and we shall all be changed.”
Also in 1 Thessalonians 4:16, “For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of an angel, and with the trump of God: and the dead in Christ shall rise first.” There is also that inner knowledge that though the body is dead and decaying, the soul lives on. I cannot turn away from God because a loved one has died. I have chosen, like Joshua: but as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord (Joshua 24:15).
I like to be among those who know Jesus. Even if they are dead in their graves at the moment, I do not feel they are dead. They are waiting, even as I am waiting, and looking forward to that glorious day when we will all “be caught up in the clouds together, to meet the Lord in the air: and so shall we ever be with the Lord. Wherefore comfort one another with these words,” 1 Thessalonians 4:17-18.
There is a hymn by a Mrs Adams that used to be well known – when we sang hymns. Nearer my God to thee, Nearer to thee; Ee’en though it be a cross that raisieth me, still all my song shall be nearer my God to thee, Nearer to thee. Though like the wanderer, the sun gone down, darkness comes over me, my rest a stone; yet in my dreams I’d be Nearer my God to thee, nearer to thee. There let my way appear steps into heav’n, all that thou sendest me in mercy given, Angels to beckon me, Nearer my God to thee, nearer to thee. Then with my waking thoughts bright with thy praise, out of my stony grief’s Beth-el I’ll raise; so by my woes to be Nearer my God to thee, nearer to thee.
I believe that when someone you love, a husband, parent or child dies, one immediately becomes aware of a new dimension that is unseen. Each religion has its way of expressing this understanding. The hymn above expresses the Christian understanding of this often painful time – that heaven is but a breath away from each of us, and that we can praise God in song and worship and be comforted.
What is a cemetery? What is there? Why a cemetery? Well, I think people used to respect others more, even when they were dead. They had cared for each other when alive and they continued to care for each other even when dead. When one has loved someone deeply and is parted from them by death it is wonderful to lessen that parting by having a grave to visit and care for, maybe by monumental decoration or by putting out flowers to beautify and bring to mind fond memories.
Nowadays it is called part of the grieving process. Graves and the inscriptions on the memorial stones are part of each family’s history. The stones usually record the person’s full names and, in the case of a woman, even her maiden name, the date of birth and the date of death. Sometimes included is the place of birth and place of death, and how the person died, in the case of a soldier – the particular battle. All these may seem to be trivial details, but to a person seeking to make a family tree, cemeteries are valuable places of accurate information.
An accurate family tree might help to establish the true heir to an estate or fortune, but usually it is just to “know one’s roots”, as they say today. I like the cemetery for another reason. I get to know the people there, even those who are long dead. They are not a part of my family tree but they are certainly a part of the community in which I live and, those long dead are no less a part of that community. The decisions they had to make in their day can have long reaching effects that they are still, good or bad, influencing my daily life.
There is also a certain orderliness about the cemetery. Everyone has his or her place and they remain in that place, rather like my books on my bookshelf. I keep my books in their place so when I want a particular author I know exactly where to find them. My books, and their authors, have, over the years, become my friends. Some closer than others, but all the same, friends.
It is the same with the people buried in the cemetery. I have slowly over the years got to know about the lives of different townspeople of yesteryear. We bought shoes from Blackbeards and clothes from Stirks. Grocotts supplied many needs, not only newspapers. There is Aunt Josie Wood there, and my husband’s mother Cecile, as well as his great great grandfather Fred Barber, a cousin of William Guybon Atherstone who encouraged him to come to this country. There are the sad graves of those killed in a day in the Blaukrans Bridge train disaster. Bishop Merriman, a man of outstanding leadership and Godly qualities.
I have been greatly saddened by the destruction of the historic graves in the Albany Road cemeteries. I visit other cemeteries in other towns and theirs are still in good condition, places to enjoy and rest for a while, far from the maddening crowds. I have also been saddened by the fact that the local council has not cared for this important asset to Grahamstown. In other cities all over the world cemeteries are seen as places of beauty as well as history.
The destruction of the cemetery continues daily. The iron railings are being stolen – that we know. Heavy white marble crosses have been thrown to the ground so as to break them. A particularly heavy piece is chosen for a mallet which is used to bash the railings from their moorings. Marble urns, which are very heavy indeed, have been broken off monuments and used for breaking the decorative arrow heads off the tops of the railings for easy dismantling and packing. Marble tombstones are used as anvils.
I believe that a number of the marble crosses have gone from the cemetery altogether, others are in fragments. Tombstones have been thrown down and overturned, many breaking on impact with the ground. One wonders at the energy and sheer wilfulness of some of the destruction. What is in such a person who carries out such dastardly acts of vandalism upon what was once a gem in the history of Grahamstown?
I have been comforted by words in the Holy Bible about such people, for my thoughts have not been easy. Zechariah 5:3-4, “Then he said unto me, This is the curse that goes forth over the face of the whole earth: for every one that steals shall be cut off as on this side according to it; and everyone that swears shall be cut off as on that side according to it. I will bring it forth, says the Lord of hosts, and it shall enter into the house of the thief, and into the house of him that swears falsely by my name and it shall remain in the midst of his house, and shall consume it with the timber thereof and the stones thereof.”
Amen I was struck by the following words written by Elizabeth Goudge in her book The Scent of Water, The typical kindness touched him, but that she should think that anything she could do would ameliorate even the fringe of the devastation, touched him even more. It was like a child trying to empty the ocean with a toy bucket. Yet the same criticism could be levelled at every individual attempt to ameliorate or withstand the titanic evils of the world, but the puny efforts had to be made, because it was all one could do. And if there were enough children with enough buckets…
