Neglected
Rural Cemeteries
From “The Daily Ontario”,
Belleville, Ont. Wed. Feb. 20, 1918 |
As one drives through the rural districts
of Ontario the local cemetery is not an infrequent sight. Oftener than not the
appearance represents the extreme of shabbiness and neglect. Fences, unpainted and in various stages of
growth of decay, plots overgrown with long grass, weeds and bushed, and
grave-stones falling or ready to fall are the most conspicuous features. Though the grounds are often well situated
and the natural location beautiful, the condition in which they are maintained
is frequently a disgrace to the community.
A correspondent refers to his subject in
a personal letter to the editor from which we make the following quotation, --
“Will you make the subject of the
Neglected rural burying Ground the theme for one of your seasonable talks to
the plain people. This topic is one of
my worries. Three generations of our
family lied buried out there, at
----- cemetery in Thurlow and
the state of the place is a crime and a disgrace. I go there every chance I get and have sent enough money to buy
the place twice over, but I can accomplish nothing. Can any appeal be made to rural sentiment to help? There are dozens of such neglected spots and
their condition is a sin and a shame.”
We do not see any reason why these
district burial places should not be established and maintained on business
principles just the same as the district school, the co-operative cheese-factory
and the rural church.
Here is a plan that seems practical
enough which was outlined by a correspondent of one of our weekly farm
journals, -----
This
cemetery did not suffer from what might be termed wilful neglect, but the nearest
relatives being in other districts, and the farmers of the community being busy
and expected to look after the graves of their own departed loved ones, did not
give the attention needed to keep these graves in good condition. Some, too, who were buried there had no
relatives anywhere to care for their graves.
Many old-style, high-top grave markers were toppling over and some were
already lying on the ground. Grass and
weeds so completely covered the grounds that the use of a lawn mower was impossible.
There
seemed to be only one solution of the problem and that was to place the care of
these grounds upon a business basis.
With this in views, a meeting was called, a committee appointed and a
board of trustees chosen. The board of
trustees consisted of five members, and privilege given for the choosing of a
new member as one trustee would go out of office or move away. This board consisted of public-spirited men
who were willing to give some of their time gratis to the work of improving the
old cemetery. The heavy labor, of
course, was paid for, but much time was donated by these generous men. The first act of the board was to procure
the names of all people interested in the work and those having relatives
buried there. These people were solicited
to give toward a fund that was to be put on interest and the income of this
used in keeping up the cemetery. The
fund itself was not to be used, only the income from it. No lots were sold but it was understood that
donations were welcomed, and by giving a donation to his fund, a lot would be
reserved for the donor. All people
solicited were favourable to his arrangement and many were very liberal in
their donation. Those living at a
distance were very willing to enter into a plan that would insure the care of
graves of their relatives, and of their own graves when they were laid in the
same resting place.
The cemetery was plotted and a careful
record made of all lots, new fences were put up, the graves all levelled and
low places filled, so that the grass could be mowed with a lawn mower. A man was hired to care for the cemetery,
mow the grass and trim around trees and markers. The grass was mowed once a week.
An ordinance was passed forbidding the planting of shrubs or flowers
that would interfere with the mower’s
work. Cut flowers were allowable.
In a short time we had a beautifully kept cemetery, plain but neat in
every detail.
After all this work was done, a tent was
purchased for use over the open grave during the time of burial in cold and
rainy weather. This was much appreciated
by those who buried their friends in this cemetery.
Particularly here in this Bay of Quinte
section the final resting places of the mortal remains of our fathers and
forefathers should be hallowed ground. They it was who reserved the British heritage inn this great
Canadian northland and sacrificed friends, possessions and comfortable homes in
order that they might preserve unstained their ideals of national honor.
The heroes and heroines who suffered slaved
and starved in order that they might establish homes for themselves and their
children in what was then an unknown and forbidding wilderness – to see their
graves weed strewn and headstones toppled over is indeed a “crime and a
disgrace.”
We may show disrespect, but we cannot
bring dishonor to the heroic dead.
Their record of devotion, fealty and sacrifice is immortal. But we can and do dishonor ourselves when we
permit their tombs to bear mute evidence to every passer-by of cold, brutal disregard and
forgetfulness. The God’s acre in which
repose the remains of our immortal dead should become shrines to recall noble
memories and to inspire the oncoming generations to emulate the splendid deeds
of the heroic founders of this great Canadian commonwealth.
Beneath those rugged elms, that yew tree’s
shade
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering
heap,
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,
The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.
The breezy call of incense-breathing morn,
The swallow twittering from the straw-built
shed,
The cock’s shrill clarion, or the echoing
horn,
No more shall rouse them from their lowly
bed.
Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield,
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has
broke;
How jocund did they drive their team afield!
How bow’d the woods beneath their sturdy
stroke!
Let not ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure,
Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile,
The short and simple annals of the Poor.
The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And
all that beauty, all that wealth e’er gave,
Await alike th’ inevitable hour: --
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Nor
you, ye Proud, impute to these the fault
If Memory o’er their tomb no trophies raise,
Where through the long-drawn aisle and
fretted vault
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.
Can storied win or animated lust,
Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath?
Can Honour’s voice provoke the silent dust,
Or Flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of
Death?
Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid
Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire,
Hands, that the rod of empire might have
sway’d
Or waked to ecstasy the diving lyre:
But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne’er
unroll
Chill Penury repress’d their noble rage
And froze the genial current of the soul
Full many a gem of purest ray serene
The dark unfathom’d caves of ocean bear;
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.
Some village Hampden, that with dauntless
breast
The little tyrant of his fields withstood,
Some mute, inglorious Milton here may rest,
Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country’s
blood.
Th’ applause of list’ning senates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
To scatter plenty o’er a smiling land,
And read their history in a nation’s eyes.
---------Thomas
Gray