Grave musings

We went to Raymond Terrace Cemetery so Mum and Dad could tidy their parents' graves. As always, it was very peaceful. A couple of workmen were readying plots, while a group of sporty ladies made their way around the nearby golf course. But it's a big graveyard and we were the only visitors.

I actually started with the historic Pioneer Hill Cemetery which is across the road from the modern one (and next to the links). Spying a golf ball in the grass, I picked it up and cleaned it on my shirt, only to discover the force of the swing which knocked it out of the course had also split the ball open.

The oldest person buried on P/H - Owen Keegan - was born in 1759! It gave me a real feeling of the weight of history. Nothing to compare with viewing rock art in Kakadu. That felt ancient to the point of being beyond time. Still, I'd never realised the roots of the town of my infancy ran so deep.

When I reached M+D, they'd almost finished their maintenance (each had brought a small knife). They were generally happy with the state of things, though a layer of white pebbles might improve the appearance of one grave and something could be planted in a rectangle of jet-black dirt in another.

I find it unlikely that all four of my grandparents ended up buried in the Terrace, given they were from a far-off town, the same town, a different state and a different country. Then again, I suppose everything in life is unlikely. Two died relatively young and two very old. What does that bode?

Mum and Dad checked on the spot where they themselves will be lain to rest. It was purchased years ago, either when my father was seriously ill or the price was set to rise. There is room for me as well, if I want. I don't like to think about such things. Hopefully I can make it 101, like Owen Keegan!