Wednesday, January 18/2023

Take a walk over to the English cemetery. It’s partly shady and behind a stone wall. Always leaves me slightly teary, although it’s only home to one person that we actually knew. One of the things I like is how personal many of the inscriptions are, in a way that Canadian headstones seldom emulate. There are the usual « beloved husband of » words but many others were written to encapsulate a sense of the person himself or herself in a way that more usually appears in Canada in in memoriam notices - if there. Like the description on this stone - « a true Renaissance woman ». And I probably like it especially because there are usually far more references to Renaissance men. 

There’s also rather startling wit to be found. Witness the enormous grave ledger (had to look up the term for a stone that covers the whole grave. It’s rare to see a stone that makes you laugh, and I probably wouldn’t erect one, but the husband, listed on the top left corner by birth date only, has had it engraved « I live here with Sheila » (though obviously he doesn’t yet). The funny bit being not the words but the outline above them of a large and happy pig. Presumably a porcine theme that family and friends would have appreciated and enjoyed as there are several small pigs and a statue of a girl feeding rhen next to the grave.

People much loved, individual, far from home or, often, in the country of their chosen home. As “Harry Allatt, Yorkshire man and adopted son of Scotland, who travelled the world but found true contentment in Pervolia.” RIP. May we all be so fortunate.