OPINION (AN COLÚN): Embraced by memories and peace in a Birr cemetery

GRAVEYARDS are beautiful places to visit, places of thinking about life and the afterlife. In their peaceful embrace we take a welcome break from the pragmatic and hurrying nature of our society. When we visit cemeteries we feel close to our loved ones and think about the time when we will rejoin them in the next world. We delve into our hearts and connect with the philosophical and spiritual elements of our inner nature.
In the 17th Century, cutlery was sometimes designed with a skull and the words “Memento Mori”. Memento Mori means “remember that you shall die”. It was a type of “Carpe Diem” (“seize the day”) and encouraged the owners to reflect upon making their lives more decent and more Christian, to think about the fact that worldly wealth and worldly power fade away, and that adherence to excessive materialism removes our connection with our better natures.
When I visit graveyards I am also reminded of aesthetics and how tastes differ. More often than not my taste will veer towards traditionalism. Therefore I prefer the old grave stones rather than the contemporary black marble headstones, which are too shiny for my liking.
In many ways it is much better to be alive in 2018 than in previous eras, butI think in terms of aesthetics our ancestors and predecessors, were, generally speaking, more attuned to good taste than we are. So often our building techniques in the public space are plain ugly, anti-human, harsh and bleak. There are countless examples of the disappearance of the decent aesthetics gene throughout our lives, and the problem can be seen in our graveyards.
Clonoghill cemetery in Birr is an excellent example. Several of my relatives are buried in the old cemetery in Clonoghill. I like visiting the place because it is atmospheric and sensitively designed. There are many yew trees in the cemetery, which is an ideal tree for graveyards. Yews and cedars are sometimes planted in burial grounds because of their symbolic meaning. They represent eternal life. Pines also signify immortality while willows serve as a perpetual mourner. Yews are famous for being long-living. There is a yew in North Wales which is about 4,000 to 5,000 years old. They grow about 10 to 20 metres tall and can have a trunk diameter of about two metres. The atmosphere which this tree emanates is mysterious. A poet said of the tree that it has a “form and aspect” which is “too magnificent to be destroyed.” Our Celtic ancestors believed that yew trees had magical powers; therefore, the trees were sacred to them. Druids used yew trees for wand making, dowsing rods, relic boxes, and other important items. The Celts made bows, spears, dagger handles from yew wood in the hope that they would inspire leadership, power and bravery in their holders. For the Celts, yew trees symbolised immortality, rebirth, transformation, protection against evil, connecting to one's ancestors, tenacity, etc.
Yew trees were sometimes placed on the north side of church cemeteries because it was believed that was where the devil's door was situated and they would protect the dead from the devil and his demons.
While the yew is associated with everlasting life, it is also, paradoxically, associated with death. This is because of its poisonous nature.
There are also a lot of old-style headstones in Clonoghill and thankfully not too much black marble. It is surrounded by a stone wall, which looks well. A considerable part of the cemetery is on a slope and there are very fine views of the surrounding pasture land and woodland, beyond to the long, purple line of the Slieve Bloom Mountains.
To sit for a long while in a place like Clonoghill is to feel deeply grounded and connected to a very peaceful presence.
These positive feelings disappear completely when I enter the new cemetery in Clonoghill, across the road from the old one. The first problem is the Council sign at the entranceway. This sign is laying out the rules of the cemetery, and it feels strangely proscriptive and cold, creating the wrong impression immediately. Then we enter a vast lawn cemetery. It is a place lacking the old graveyard's character. It feels too manicured, too clinical. There are no stone divides at the graves, which creates an unwelcome sense of homogeneity, and the bare concrete wall can only truly be described by one very appropriate word, ghastly. It is a place where I wouldn't be buried in, if I had the choice, nor would I want any of my relations to be buried there. There is not a tree in sight. No yews. It's as if its builders have turned their backs on thousands of years of heritage, ancestral memory and wisdom. I have complained about the new cemetery to members of the Council countless times over the years. They have listened politely and attentively to me talking about the excessively clinical nature of the cemetery and the need to soften its appearance. Unfortunately nothing has happened since.
Recently, while rummaging through my library, I came across a book published in the mid 1990s called, “Here Lies – A Guide to Irish Graves” by Maeve Friel. In her introduction Friel very importantly points out, “Nowadays when regulations and by-laws restrict the wording, the material to be used and the dimensions of headstones, it is the variety of styles in older graveyards that lend them their enchantment. The craft of the stonemason is evident in the monolithic Celtic crosses, the finely sculptured altar tombs like the one in Straide, County Mayo, with its cheerfully smiling bishops and saints, the table top slabs richly carved with spirals and Celtic motifs...” Sadly, nowadays, highly proscriptive bye-laws stymie creative expression, and a lot of the stonemason's craft is no longer practised.