the form of death

Death has no form, no shape, no pattern, texture or layout. Graveyards do. They have quite distinct forms, shapes and patterns. So do gravestones. It is an angular world the dead are buried in: regular walled rectangles, or squares, even; occasionally later editions forming triangles or yet another rectangle. A straight line of graves seems... Continue Reading →

the last road

We all take it one day or the other: the last road. Some go fast, some slow: for some it winds and meanders through time, for others it ends in a short and straight line. Whatever the last road looks like, to each and one of us, we all take it in the end -... Continue Reading →

running with the coffin

Funeral rites are sombre, grave and placid; at least in most European countries they are. Scotland can be a very different matter when it comes to burying the dead. Funerals are sometimes full of humour, drink and the sharing of reminiscences with a smile. In Petty, just about 7 miles outside Inverness, the mourners would... Continue Reading →

fairy hill

Entering Inverness from the South, the traveller passes a small, wooded hill with a peculiar shape that rises steep behind the Caledonian Canal: Tomnahurich. A large burial ground with old graves on the hill and newer ones circling it. Nothing spectacular seems to hide behind the high gates of Tomnahurich. For those who do not... Continue Reading →

moss and lichen

The words moss and lichen made it very early into my vocabulary, I am not a native English speaker and moss and lichen seem rather unusual words for a foreigner to know. But then again, for a foreigner who delights in Scottish cemeteries, it is not such an unusual vocabulary after all, because moss and... Continue Reading →

Burn the church!

“Bar the door and burn the church down.” murmured the MacDonald through the sound of singing, that oozed through the walls of the little church. The sun was out, the wind forcefully as ever, making the long haired raiders look even more fierce. They held their weapons ready, at the back of the church, away... Continue Reading →

bodies washed ashore

It was a cold and cloudy morning in the beginning of October 1942. Few men had remained in the village of Lower Breakish. The war wore heavy on the people of Skye. They did not know what waited for them at the beaches of the island. They did not know, what they would soon have... Continue Reading →

melancholy

But when the melancholy fit shall fall Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud, That fosters the droop-headed  flowers all, And hides the green hill in an April shroud; Ode on Melancholy, John Keats (1795 - 1821), The Oxford Book of English Verse If you love Keats, Shelley and Byron you surely must love graveyards.... Continue Reading →

Eilean Munde – graveyard island

Near the shores of Loch Leven, close to the road up towards Glencoe rises a small island out of the cold tidal waters. On a sunny day in summer the lush grass smells of herbs, the rough song of the crickets creates a somehow Italian atmosphere. No bridge or ferry connects the island full of... Continue Reading →

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