Why cemeteries are not all bad news

It’s probably part of my Polish heritage, but I have always been drawn to cemeteries. They are typically calm and peaceful places, where few people venture and those that do behave in a quiet and respectful manner. As a teenager backpacking solo around Europe for the first time I often found cemeteries to be a great spot to take off the pack and just chill for an hour or two. The break from the hustle of the city was a welcome relief.

I have to admit to not being as respectful as I should have been when I was younger.  I studied for my first degree in the northern English city of Bradford, and on the other side of town is Undercliffe Cemetery, an impressive if decidely spooky place. It was the traditional burial place of the rich mill owners of the 19th century, and many of the tombs here are over 2 metres in height. Some you can even walk inside. It was a spot where we would occasionally come and watch the sun rise after a big night out, once even taking a guitar to greet the new day in style. But at night it had a malevolant atmosphere, and we would often walk through as a dare, usually running back to the safety of the gate when we heard a noise. One of my flatmates even spent a night in the largest tomb for a bet, but reported nothing of note much to our disappointment.

While human remains are usually buried and totally out of sight, this is not the case in the Nazca desert in Peru, where you can wander around the bare earth and see skulls, skeleton parts and even old clothes. Things that would be normally kept in a museum are lying on the open earth for all to see. Many of the bones have, not surprisingly been plundered, although an impressive selection remain.

While walking around a cemetery in England it is normal to see occasional flowers among a majority of untended graves. I was struck by the contrast when I visited Ukraine, where every grave is full of flowers. A permanent covering of artificial flowers is topped with fresh flowers and in fact there were more people in the cemetery than I witnessed anywhere else in the village I was visiting. It was clear that there was a strong connection between the burial site and the memory and ongoing respect of those who had passed away and it was this respect that was evident in both observing and listening to those who came to spend time tending to the graves of their loved ones.

Of course the rich and famous can become more accessible to their adoring public in death than they ever were alive. Graves become places of worship for their fans and many cemeteries are busy with a flow of people to one particular famous resident. Maybe there is no better example of this than the tomb of Eva Peron in the Recoleta Cemetery in Buenos Aires. More than 50 years after her death there is still a steady stream of visitors paying their respects, most of whom only know of her through the myths and legends that have built up in the decades since she was alive.

Cemeteries do mark the sad passing of people from this world. But they are also positive proof of love and respect for the dead, as shown by the devotion that people have given to keeping graves fresh and clean. They can also provide peaceful havens in otherwise noisy and crowded cities. Finally, they offer us an easily accessible historical record of the people who lived in the neighbourhood, and in many cases an insight into how they lived their lives.