Resting in peace
A new book finds fresh life in tales from the crypt as it surveys graveyards as an enduring ‘library of the dead’.
Elegy Written In A Country who enlisted as a man, the difficulty of unconsecrated graves, a Dublin tour guide of Glasnevin who hanged himself there, a “Wild Boy” reminiscent of Caspar Hauser in Hertfordshire and the rise in ecological burials. One of the themes that intertwines his sensitive interviews is that graveyards are a thing of the past. Most of us will be cremated. The rituals around this are yet to harden: two of my grandparents are in a plot with a headstone, the other two are under flowers in my parents’ garden.
There is an intriguing chapter of ossuaries, or bone crypts, in England; although I was slightly disappointed that Ross did not look at the more baroque versions of these, such as the Capuchin Chapel on the
Via Veneto in Rome. In a manner there is a synergy in this chapter with Sue Black’s work – what do we learn about the dead and from the dead? Although I would always counter, what does it tell us about living? There is a genuine tenderness in the descriptions of those who, voluntarily, seek to keep those at rest safe.
Much though I enjoyed and was moved by the book, there is a slight problem in terms of tone. When Ross is telling the stories of others, he is polite, cautious and respectful. They speak for themselves and he gives them space to speak. In some of the other parts there is some writing which I would describe as being a bit flash. The title itself – a pun on EM
passengers on her first transatlantic voyage. She was temporarily transferred to the Admiralty in 1914, and ran aground and sank the following year.
Undertaking salvage of the ship was a huge task for Crawford and Martin, but promised to be very profitable. Copper and brass, the most valuable finds, were in rich supply, especially from the huge propellers.
The description of their work is
beyond me; I understood little except the obvious danger. Readers with an understanding of technology will find it riveting.
Crawford writes of difficult and very dangerous work with a good deal of sangfroid. Indeed, one may call his tone of voice old-fashioned, for he goes in for understatement. However, the good humour and absence of boasting and hyperbole make this an unusually likeable, as well as interesting, memoir.