Churchyards Serenity
It seems to me that churchyards
have a curious quality of being forbidding yet at the same
time irresistible. One of the many attractions of churchyards
is their peacefulness. Even when you come across one in
the middle of a busy town, a momentary respite from the
noisy traffic, the hustle and bustle of shops and the heat
of a torrid day can surely be found. Many of them are likened
to a fairy grotto where one is inclined to whisper instead
of shout and there is always the cool shade of an old tree
to be found. Charles Dickens described the typical nineteenth-centaury
city churchyard in The Uncommercial traveller thus: 'The
illegible tombstones are all lop-sided, the grave mounds
lost their shape in the rains of a hundred years ago.
the Lombardy Poplar or Plane-Tree that was once a
dry-salter daughter and several common-councilmen, has
withered like those worthies, and its departed leaves
are dust beneath it. Contagion of slow ruin overhangs
the place.' Of course ruin implies neglect, and it is
the very air of neglect that gives churchyards their
serenity Churchyards have defied the influence of so
called 'progress', whatever that may be, and give
themselves up for quiet reflection. It is estimated that
the area of land used for burial purposes in England and
Wales is approximately 25,000 acres. This includes
cemeteries as well as churchyards. Nevertheless it is a
startling statistic- nearly forty square miles of
ground. In many cases it is probable that a churchyard
is considerably older than the first churches they
contained, since the first churches were made of wood
and eventually had to be replaced. The chief population
of churchyards consists of countless legions of
forgotten and obscure people whose monuments can be seen
as their little share of immortality. The value of a
grand monument is an illusion It is only by a mans deeds
that he is remembered and the vast majority of us must
resign ourselves to oblivion. It could be said that
monuments are for the benefit of the living, not the
dead. Surviving friends and family do not need a
monument to help them remember.
Sign Of The Times
 Think
of Romsey and you think of Broadlands. The two of course
are synonymous. The illustrious former home of Lord Mountbatten
was once owned by Lord Palmerston whose statue, the work
of Mathew Noble, stands in the town square today. The old
building standing adjacent is nowadays home to the Conservative
Club. In years gone by however it used to be an inn known
as The Old Swan Inn. The name and the inn itself may have
long disappeared into the mists of time but one relic still
remains. The enormous wrought iron sign outside. This iron
structure is very long and equally strong. A sinister test
of its strength was accomplished in the 1640's when
Lord Fairfax, a general in the Parliamentarian army during
the Civil War, stayed at Romsey. Fairfax, a man renowned
as a no nonsense disciplinarian, lodged at the inn and found
the wrought iron structure to be of great value when it
came to hanging deserters. Not only that but the length
of the structure meant that he could hang two at the same
time. Over the years there have been numerous reports of
eerie sights and sounds, perhaps from tortured spirits,
from that very place. Fact or fiction. Who can tell?
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