Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Tales from St Anthony Part XI -- Bad panoramas and thoughts of the dead

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It was a massive hike but worth it in the end. Beat that Bear Grylls.
Today I stood among proof that bad days happen and, if like me, you are having a day in which the world weighs heavy on your shoulders, do yourself a favour and head to your nearest cemetery.
At the dead end of a no-name road, buried beneath a sheltering mossy cliff face, Great Brehat cemetery is a history book slowly sinking into the bog.

Hidden from the crashing ocean and the prevailing gales is a parcel of land in which the dead have almost equaled the living.

About 60 undulating plots face the town of almost 100 residents, the names of those admirably eking a living on the Northern Peninsular mirrored by those buried at the foot of a tourist walk, who helped found a proud Newfoundland.

Connecting the dots wasn’t hard; 17 members of the Penney clan rest with 25 of the Cull family, the Patey, Noble, Dean and Pilgrim names make up the rest, for but a few exceptions.

Following the roots of genealogic shrub isn’t difficult – he’s the son of him, his brother was her husband, she was the daughter of him and her mother was the sister of them, their lives intersect with not only Newfoundland history but world events.

Joshua Patey, married to Emily, was born the same year as Jesse James in 1847 but survived the American outlaw by half a century and when he died on May 26, 1940 at age 93 he had already survived World War I and was neck deep in the midst of WWII.

Conversely, born November 22 in 1912, Harold H Penney lived just 17 short months
missing the worst atrocities of mankind.

The headstone messages revealed part of each story but what wasn’t said was more poignant.

Plastic flowers, no matter how faded remained as proof of kin still above ground, the broken headstones and sunken epitaphs evidence of families who followed a similar subterranean pathway or relatives forced to weigh up spending money on memories of the dead or keeping their own heads above the felt-lined casket.

I don't have it that bad after all.

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