I love the cemetery nearby. It’s where we often walk the Furlong dog. Today, I ate my lunch, soaking up the sun, on a bench there. Bobby lay at my feet, or rolled in the grass.
The cemetery here is meticulously kept by the council and also the residents in our village. It’s always full of flowers. Today I watched an old couple carefully arranging daffodils on a new grave. So after luncheon, we wandered down to a series of newish graves there, to see if it was a name I knew. Some salesman has been very busy selling the new tombstone bling. All the stones were shiny black, highly polished stone? plastic? with large font entries in bright bright gold. Some had crests or symbols on them, equally intense.
There is something lovely about the old mossy grey stone headstones in our cemetery. Some of them are really ancient. They have become incorporated into the environment. Some are wonderful natural Yorkshire rock, especially chosen as a salutation to loved ones. On them we have rare mosses and lichens.
The new bling look like “self-cleaning” plastic-coated, large gold font in-your-face tributes, which, in a hundred years, will stand as an affirmation of the artificial, plastic, faux era we live in.
Then, again, I might be being cruel. Perhaps they are cheap and that’s the only kind of headstone people can afford.
Nope! It’s black granite – not cheap. And definately not found in Yorkshire.