It’s probably been around about seven years since I first took an interest in grave yard monuments. Helping out with a church yard clearing project back in the hamlet of Llanfihangel Tor y Mynydd, where the focus of activities had fallen on planting flowers, I became distracted by an overwhelming need to start peeling heavy layers of turf which had conspired to cover up several headstones. The headstones I uncovered on that day were not particularly remarkable, but what struck me then, and continues to do so today, is the vulnerability of these resources. After all, less than two hundred years had passed since the examples uncovered on that day had been positioned in the ground, no time at all for all traces to have been lost. Ever since that day, on an extremely part time basis due to all the other things that I’m supposed to be doing, I've kept an eye out for grave yard monuments, quick to photograph and, when time and opportunity allow, fully record. There are several factors that might stimulate such research, and of course family histories remain among those themes most relevant to communities today. The very personal and sensitive nature of working in grave yards brings with it its own considerations, when analysing family plots for instance, the researcher may well encounter narratives which are touching, emotionally challenging, aspects which can serve to create a much closer connection between researcher and subject. But with a conservation hat on, it should perhaps be a sense of urgency which stimulates work in this area, for all the value that might be derived from these monuments, their fragility is all too frequently on display. Journeying in Neath a couple of weeks ago, I had some time to explore the surroundings of the parish church in the centre of the town, St Thomas. The condition and treatment of the monuments displayed substantial variation. One of my favourite [the use of the word here should be taken to denote the quality of the monument for illustrative purposes] examples, towards the north west of the church, bears a winged death’s head motif, its use quite late stylistically, and its presence seemingly unique for the grave yard (based on the hour or so had to explore the site). However immediately it is clear that the detail here is in danger of being lost. Moss growth on the surface has obscured the skull element of the design, given time, the remaining elements of the motif, and text could easily follow. On the southern side of the church was what I would consider to be among the sadder, archaeologically/historically speaking, examples, where perhaps less than a quarter of the text associated with the memorial remains. We can deduce that NIC... and an ...ANN are relevant to the burial, but little more. Given time, and not much of it, their names will inevitably be lost to dust as well as those they once accompanied. This example had been laid flat on the floor, easily stepped upon, which will only serve to accelerate the decay. Elsewhere, a series of what, due to size alone, might be interpreted as headstones that once accompanied the burials of children, have clearly been relocated to form a pathway around the southern extent of the church. The relocation and current use of these monuments is highly questionable from an ethical perspective, but again from a conservation viewpoint, repeated footsteps will certainly lead to erosion, and ultimate loss of evidence, and the connection between community current, and community past.
Research in this area is easily conducted. Pencil, paper, tape measure and a camera are all good starting places. Some monuments, especially those made of old red sandstone, will sadly have only a finite lifespan regardless of our interventions, but it is with this in mind that the importance of recording what we can, while we can, is paramount. So, if you are at a research loose end over a weekend or during the summer, look no further than your local grave yard, the evidence is there, waiting to be recorded, and in an increasing number of cases, waiting to be saved.
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I can't think of the number of times that I've wandered past or through the Queens Arcade in Cardiff without giving time for some proper exploration, until yesterday. To my shame I must admit to having never really giving the middle of Cardiff much attention, always blasting through it to get from one museum to another usually, but a slower day yesterday afforded the opportunity to stumble across this plaque. Sitting on a wall, probably unnoticed by most who pass it during the last thirty years or so, is a small reference to a decorative feature in the paved pedestrian strip. Indicating the location of a former gateway into Cardiff, the feature on the path is an early attempt at heritage interpretation being embedded in town planning. It might be small, somewhat of a token effort and largely forgotten, but still remains as a quirky reminder to the way in which heritage stories were approached a few decades ago. |
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