As Above, So Below

After coming to Highgate for the past 20 years, I finally had the chance to visit the Highgate Cemetery yesterday. My aunt Emilie and Uncle Godfrey decided to go with me, as it was the first sunny day in a week and they wanted to get out and enjoy it.

Dating from the 1850's, the cemetery is a wonderful wooded place with gravestones covering most of the land, some so overgrown that they are barely recognizable. The most visited (and in my opinion, least impressive) grave site is that of Karl Marx. The second most famous is that of George Eliot - and there is a host of other writers and political figures at rest there.

There are main paths leading around and down the hill, but what is most fun is to take the side paths among the gravestones and go exploring. Wet leaves squish underfoot and if you are quiet, you can spot the resident species of wildlife enjoying their wooded haven. We saw 2 little foxes running down a path, as well as a badger (we think), and many squirrels. Emilie told me that England used to have only red squirrels, but then the American brown squirrel was brought over and they destroyed the red squirrels. I am sure there is a political commentary in there somewhere.

Less visible, but not necessarily more elusive, residents are the ghosts that haunt the site. We didn't see any yesterday, but it is easy to imagine a spectre appearing among the shadows of the trees or resting comfortably on a moss-covered headstone. There is definitely an eerie stillness to the place and I would not want to be caught there after dark. In the 1970's there was a sighting and witch hunt for a vampire ghost, and the subject is still under discussion amongst the local witchcraft-practicing folk.

Legends aside, graveyards have never been scary places for me. I find them peaceful and calming, the epitaphs a testimony to the love that each person was given in life. There are sad ones to be sure (children, men killed in service), but they are a reminder of the fragility and unpredictability of life.

Afterwards we went to lunch at the Cafe Mozart, back to the routine feeding our bodies and going about our days. For me, it was with a renewed appreciation for this time we have above ground, and the simple gift of a beautiful autumn day spent with loved ones.

Yesterday being Thanksgiving day in America, I felt that my heart and thoughts were in the right place, even from across the pond.

When Woe Fades Away

Bereavement a poem
by Percy Bysshe Shelley

How stern are the woes of the desolate mourner
As he bends in still grief o'er the hallowed bier,
As enanguished he turns from the laugh of the scorner,
And drops to perfection's remembrance a tear;
When floods of despair down his pale cheeks are streaming,
When no blissful hope on his bosom is beaming,
Or, if lulled for a while, soon he starts from his dreaming,
And finds torn the soft ties to affection so dear.
Ah, when shall day dawn on the night of the grave,
Or summer succeed to the winter of death?
Rest awhle, hapless victim! and Heaven will save
The spirit that hath faded away with the breath.
Eternity points, in its amaranth bower
Where no clouds of fate o'er the sweet prospect lour,
Unspeakable pleasure, of goodness the dower,
When woe fades away like the mist of the heath