Remember me...

Calm

Have patience, O my sorrow, and be still.
You asked for night: it falls: it is here.
A shadowy atmosphere enshrouds the hill,
to some men bringing peace, to others care.
While the vile human multitude
goes to earn remorse, in servile pleasure’s play,
under the lash of joy, the torturer, who
is pitiless, Sadness, come, far away:
Give me your hand. See, where the lost years
lean from the balcony in their outdated gear,
where regret, smiling, surges from the watery deeps.
Underneath some archway, the dying light
sleeps, and, like a long shroud trailing from the East,
listen, dear one, listen to the soft onset of night.

Charles Baudelaire

 

 

Cemetery... little story.

The history of this monument was told to me by my grandmother, and even from my mother. The sculptor wished to represent the moment when the son found his mother dead. Believing it was just asleep and kept calling her to touch her, hoping to wake up ...

 

is in the old cemetery in Cagliari, Sardinia, and the sculptor of this work, and many others is Giuseppe Sartorio.

 

Isobel Gowdie

Halloween 2010

Some Cemetery Humor

Here is a cemetery themed comic from one of my favorite internet comics

(From: xkcd )

Mc Kenzie's Pyramid

Hope St, Liverpool, UK

One cold foggy Sunday night in the autumn of 1871, 68-year-old Lionel Harland, a respected Rodney Street doctor, left his surgery and walked up Liverpool's Maryland Street, when he heard footsteps approaching. The shadowy figure of a tall wiry man wearing a top hat and a flowing cape was emerging from the swirling fog, a hundred yards ahead.

Dr Harland hesitated at the corner of Maryland and Rodney Street and felt a shiver run up his spine, even though he wore a heavy fur coat on this chilly September night.

The silhouette advanced towards the doctor with an almost military gait, and as it came within range of the flickering yellow flame of a lamppost, the elderly doctor saw to his horror that the approaching figure was the very same one he had encountered twenty years before.

It was not a living person at all, but the ghostly shade of a dead man - a dead man the doctor had known personally many years ago. It was the terrifying apparition of James McKenzie, an evil and wicked man who gambled with the Devil and lost his soul as a result, forever condemned to walk the earth without rest until Judgement Day.

Before the doctor could cross the cobbled road to escape the terrifying ghost, the apparition let out a spiteful laugh and sneeringly said: "Ha! Hospital Sunday!" The spectre was referring to a charity collection the doctor held on Sundays to raise funds for poor people needing hospital treatment.

Halfway across the road, Dr Harland was brave enough to take a single glance at the cursed phantom, and he almost fainted with fear. McKenzie's face looked as if it was lit up by a red flame, and his eyes were ink-black and lifeless. As the doctor shivered, the figure in black walked straight through the wall of the cemetery.

The trembling doctor reached the house of his friend Daniel Jackson in Blackburne Place, and after giving a garbled account of his meeting with McKenzie's ghost, he clutched his heart and collapsed onto the hearth rug.

Mr Jackson and a servant managed to revive the doctor and gave him a shot of brandy. Dr Harland nodded, then said: "Mr Brocklebank; tell him about McKenzie. He knows the story." Moments later, the surgeon quietly died in the fireside armchair.

The only Brocklebank Daniel Jackson knew of was the wealthy philanthropist and ship-owner Ralph Brocklebank, so after his friend's funeral, he forwarded a letter to the local tycoon about the strange story of Dr Harland, but did not expect a reply. He certainly did not expect a personal visit from the affluent Mr Brocklebank in response to his correspondence.

The 70-year-old millionaire paid his unexpected visit to Mr Jackson's house shortly before 11 pm. He alighted from a hansom cab in an anonymous black Ulster coat with a black felt fedora pulled over his eyes.

Brocklebank was led to the drawing room by a servant who he rudely dismissed with a wave of the hand. Daniel Jackson offered his illustrious guest a finely-cut tumbler of Hoagland's eight-year Scotch Whisky, rumoured to be Brocklebank's favourite tipple, but the mogul shook his head and in a cavalier manner he told his host to go over the story he'd related in the letter.

Mr Jackson gave his account of Dr Harland's final moments, and Brocklebank became very uneasy. He sat on the edge of the fireside armchair, jabbing the glowing coals of the fire with a poker with a tense expression.

After he had listened to Mr Jackson, he told a very strange story indeed which threw some light on the McKenzie ghost. It was a tale of greed, murder and the supernatural. Brocklebank seemed to see the events he described in the flames of the grate ashe spoke.

He said, "I remember James McKenzie. He was one of those people who are born old and crooked. Even then he was in his fifties. I was 25-years-old when I first met him, and your deceased friend was 23 and fresh out of medical school.

"McKenzie made and lost fortunes most men can only dream of. He backed the early railways and financed George Stephenson's locomotive machines. He was seen as pillar of the community and a backer of commerce and industry; but there was another unsavoury side to the man few people were aware of. He was a compulsive gambler and an ardent atheist.

"Someone told me that he put his family Bible on the fire after his sweetheart died from a fever. They say he hated God because of her death. And there were strange rumours about the man."

In 1826, eleven bodies were found in barrels in the cargo hold of a ship at Liverpool Docks. The police traced the barrels to a house at Number 8 Hope Street. That house was being looked after by a James MacGowan, who was an associate of James
McKenzie.

Anyway, the police arrested Mr MacGowan after they found 22 corpses of men women and children that had been dug up from the local cemetery. Mr MacGowan refused to name names, but everyone suspected Mr Mackenzie of being the
instigator.

There were whispers that he had turned Number 8 Hope Street into a body-snatcher's warehouse, where the corpses were pickled in barrels, ready to be shipped to the medical schools in Scotland. The going rate was £15 per corpse, be it a man, woman or a baby. But Mackenzie needed the money.

But in October 1850, something happened which I will never forget. McKenzie became acquainted with a mysterious gentleman known only as Mr Madison. Madison was the sharpest poker player McKenzie had ever met, and on this memorable occasion, they played a game throughout the night. McKenzie lost everything to the unbeatable Madison.

Just before dawn, the weary and defeated McKenzie was making preparations to leave when Madison made a bizarre proposal. He said: "One more game Mr McKenzie sir?"

McKenzie was literally penniless and said he had nothing left to gamble for. Mr Madison said, "What about your soul?" McKenzie said, "This is not the time for jests, please leave."

But Madison made it plain that he was not joking. He really did want to play a game of poker for McKenzie's soul. McKenzie nervously and said, "I think I know who you are." And Mr Madison said, "If you sir, are an atheist, then what have you to lose? For a man who does not believe in a creator cannot believe he was given a soul."

McKenzie was too proud to acknowledge the existence of the Almighty, and the fool played a game of poker for 'his soul - and Mr Madison won. James McKenzie fell to 'his knees with fear when Mr Madison presented his 'winning hand, but his opponent, who was really the 'Devil laughed and said to him: "Fear not, vain and defeated one. I will not take your soul until you are 'laid to rest in your grave."

And when McKenzie glanced up, Mr Madison had vanished, but there was an aroma of something burning in the room. This explains why Mr McKenzie was entombed in his little pyramid above ground sitting up at a card table with a winning poker hand.

It was his desperate attempt to cheat the Devil out of claiming his soul. As long as McKenzie's mortal remains are above ground, Lucifer can't claim his soul. But because McKenzie rejected eternal rest with God, he has condemned himself to walk the night as a restless ghost until Judgement Day.

When old Mr Brocklebank was leaving the house in Blackburne Place, Daniel Jackson said to him, "Sir, did you actually meet - you know who? Mr Madison?" Before the millionaire walked off into the jade fog, he nodded twice and with a worried look, he replied "You don't think I accumulated my wealth through hard work do you? But I'll have the devil to pay when my time comes." 

Thanks to Clare for this story

Have you ever seen a Ghost?

The photo above is said to have been taken at Bachelor's Grove Cemetery in Chicago.

There are numerous photos and even videos such as the one HERE that claim to have captured images of, or even movements cause by the departed. What do you think? Are these 'real' or not? Have you ever seen a ghost? Tell us about it!

Edgar Allen Poe Finally Getting Proper Funeral

(AP) For Edgar Allan Poe, 2009 has been a better year than 1849. After dozens of events in several cities to mark the 200th anniversary of his birth, he's about to get the grand funeral that a writer of his stature should have received when he died.

One hundred sixty years ago, the beleaguered, impoverished Poe was found, delirious and in distress outside a Baltimore tavern. He was never coherent enough to explain what had befallen him since leaving Richmond, Va., a week earlier. He spent four days in a hospital before he died at age 40.

Poe's cousin, Neilson Poe, never announced his death publicly. Fewer than 10 people attended the hasty funeral for one of the 19th century's greatest writers. And the injustices piled on. Poe's tombstone was destroyed before it could be installed, when a train derailed and crashed into a stonecutter's yard. Rufus Griswold, a Poe enemy, published a libelous obituary that damaged Poe's reputation for decades.

But on Sunday, Poe's funeral will get an elaborate do-over, with two services expected to draw about 350 people each _ the most a former church next to his grave can hold. Actors portraying Poe's contemporaries and other long-dead writers and artists will pay their respects, reading eulogies adapted from their writings about Poe.

"We are following the proper etiquette for funerals. We want to make it as realistic as possible," said Jeff Jerome, curator of the Poe House and Museum.

Advance tickets are sold out, although Jerome will make some seats available at the door to ensure packed houses. Fans are traveling from as far away as Vietnam.

The funeral is arguably the splashiest of a year's worth of events honoring the 200th anniversary of Poe's birth. Along with Baltimore _ where he spent some of his leanest years in the mid-1830s _ Poe lived in or has strong connections to Boston, New York, Philadelphia and Richmond.

With the funeral angle covered, the Edgar Allan Poe Museum in Richmond staged a re-enactment last weekend of his death. Those with a more academic interest in Poe can attend the Poe Studies Association's annual conference from Thursday through Sunday in Philadelphia.

Visitors in Baltimore for the funeral can enjoy a new exhibit at the Baltimore Museum of Art, "Edgar Allan Poe: A Baltimore Icon," which includes chilling illustrations to "The Raven" by Edouard Manet.

Baltimore has a decided advantage over the other cities that lay claim to Poe, notes BMA director Doreen Bolger. "We have the body," she said.

This week, that's true in more ways than one. Jerome said he's gotten calls from people who thought he was going to exhume Poe's remains and rebury them.

"When they dug up Poe's body in 1875 to move it, it was mostly skeletal remains," Jerome said. "I've seen remains of people who've been in the ground since that time period, and there's hardly anything left."

Instead, Jerome commissioned local special-effects artist Eric Supensky to create an eerily lifelike _ or deathlike _ mock-up of Poe's corpse.

"I got chills," Jerome said Monday upon seeing the body for the first time. "This is going to freak people out."

The body will lie in state for 12 hours Wednesday at the Poe House, a tiny rowhome in a gritty section of west Baltimore. Visitors are invited to pay their respects.

Following the viewing will be an all-night vigil at Poe's grave at Westminster Burying Ground. Anyone who attends will have the opportunity to deliver a tribute.

On Sunday morning, a horse-drawn carriage will transport the replica of Poe's body from his former home to the graveyard for the funeral.

Actor John Astin, best known as Gomez Addams on TV's "The Addams Family," will serve as master of ceremonies.

"It's sort of a way of saying, 'Well, Eddie, your first funeral wasn't a very good one, but we're going to try to make it up to you, because we have so much respect for you,'" said Asin, who toured as Poe for years in a one-man show.

The service won't be a total lovefest, however. The first eulogy will come from none other than Griswold.

"People are asking me, 'Jeff, why are you inviting him? He hated Poe!'" Jerome said. "The reason is, most of these people defended Poe in response to what he said about Poe's life, so we can't have this service without having old Rufus sitting in the front row, spewing forth his hatred."

Eulogies will follow from actors portraying, among others, Sarah Helen Whitman, a minor poet whom Poe courted after his wife's death, and Walt Whitman, who attended the dedication of Poe's new gravestone in 1875 but didn't feel well enough to speak. Writers and artists influenced by Poe, including Arthur Conan Doyle and Alfred Hitchcock, will also be represented.

Jerome expects to cry _ one reason he won't be speaking. Even his rivals are impressed with the scale of the tribute.

"Annoyed as I am with Baltimore sometimes, I have to give them credit," said Philadelphia-based Poe scholar Edward Pettit, who argues his city was of greater importance to Poe's life and literary career. "Baltimore has done an awful lot to maintain the legacy of Poe over the last 100-some years."

(Sorce)

Hollywood Forever Cemetery

This cemetery is the forever home of many notable persons from the last 100 years of Hollywood. It was founded in 1899 on 100 acres as Hollywood Memorial Park Cemetery. Unfortunately, by the latter part of the 20th century it had become run down. The Forever enterprise purchased the now 62-acre property in 1998 , restored, refurbished and renamed it.

I first went to this cemetery when I was in high school with my mom and my sister. Weekend adventures with my mom commonly included trips to cemeteries, psychic eye, bookstores, historical places and cultural events. ( I am sure many of you are surprised! :P) Some of my earliest memories are playing at West

wood Memorial Park by the wall crypt of Marilyn Monroe.

That particular day we were just looking around. One area of particular interest was the main mausoleum on the right of the park. When walking down the first corridor on the left, you get the feeling that it goes on forever. The farther in you get, you feel like you have walked into some sort of portal. I have taken pictures in there and by the time I got in the car, i had 10 or 15 shots of pure black nothing.

One of Hollywood Forever's most famous resident's - Rudolph Valentino - is involved in the park's most well known ghost stories: The Lady in Black. The Lady in Black is known to be seen walking into the mausoleum at night, every night. She brings him exactly 2 long stemmed roses. There are also reports of a near by statue of an angel appearing to cry and the smell of a woman's perfume appearing even if nobody else is around. Valentino's crypt is in the mausoleum with the strange corridor.

Could it just be a dedicated fan? An urban legend? If

you're local, check it out. Maybe you will see the Lady in Black bringing 2 long stemmed roses to The Sheik.

St. Roch Cemetery and Chapel

New Orleans is famous for its distinctive cemeteries, and New Orleanians are renowned for their celebration of these "Cities of the Dead." One of the most unique in the city has to be St. Roch Cemetery. In 1867, New Orleans was in the grip of a furious yellow fever epidemic, and there was little anyone could do to stop the spread of the disease. Reverend Peter Thevis prayed to St. Roch, a medieval saint who ministered to plague victims. After his congregation was spared, Rev. Thevis saw to the creation of the cemetery and its famous chapel.



The Chapel is the most unusual in the city, with its hundreds of mementos of cures attributed to St. Roch. Shoes, braces, crutches, and replicas of body parts line the walls. There is also a whisper that some of this is related to Voodoo, as ceremonies were once supposed to have taken place here.












St. Roch






Born at Montpellier towards 1295; died 1327. His father was governor of that city. At his birth St. Roch is said to have been found miraculously marked on the breast with a red cross. Deprived of his parents when about twenty years old, he distributed his fortune among the poor, handed over to his uncle the government of Montpellier, and in the disguise of a mendicant pilgrim, set out for Italy, but stopped at Aquapendente, which was stricken by the plague, and devoted himself to the plague-stricken, curing them with the sign of the cross. He next visited Cesena and other neighbouring cities and then Rome.




Everywhere the terrible scourge disappeared before his miraculous power. He visited Mantua, Modena, Parma, and other cities with the same results. At Piacenza, he himself was stricken with the plague. He withdrew to a hut in the neighbouring forest, where his wants were supplied by a gentleman named Gothard, who by a miracle learned the place of his retreat. After his recovery Roch returned to France. Arriving at Montpellier and refusing to disclose his identity, he was taken for a spy in the disguise of a pilgrim, and cast into prison by order of the governor, -- his own uncle, some writers say, -- where five years later he died. The miraculous cross on his breast as well as a document found in his possession now served for his identification. He was accordingly given a public funeral, and numerous miracles attested his sanctity.



In 1414, during the Council of Constance, the plague having broken out in that city, the Fathers of the Council ordered public prayers and processions in honour of the saint, and immediately the plague ceased. His relics, according to Wadding, were carried furtively to Venice in 1485, where they are still venerated. It is commonly held that he belonged to the Third Order of St. Francis; but it cannot be proved. Wadding leaves it an open question.

Urban VIII approved the ecclesiastical office to be recited on his feast (16 August). Paul III instituted a confraternity, under the invocation of the saint, to have charge of the church and hospital erected during the pontificate of Alexander VI. The confraternity increased so rapidly that Paul IV raised it to an archconfraternity, with powers to aggregate similar confraternities of St. Roch. It was given a cardinal-protector, and a prelate of high rank was to be its immediate superior (see Reg. et Const. Societatis S. Rochi). Various favours have been bestowed on it by Pius IV (C. Regimini, 7 March, 1561), by Gregory XIII (C. dated 5 January, 1577), by Gregory XIV (C. Paternar. pont., 7 March, 1591), and by other pontiffs. It still flourishes.

Colma~ City of the Dead

Here are some of my photos from my recent trip to the San Francisco area. More on the history of Colma and our trip can be found here.