Can you identify me?

Posted by Vale

A young girl went missing. A body was found. A young man went to the police and said that she might be his sister. They said that was not possible; her age is wrong. That was how it happened back in 1994.

Today, police are looking for this man. The man who said that the young unidentified girl found in Pogonip Park was his sister. She still might not be his sister, but they need to find him to make sure.

The young girl was murdered in an area of the park where homeless people stayed. Now new tests have shown that she might have been younger than the police first thought…

I was an African American Male, about 50 years old, I stood about 5’8 and I wore a gold loop earring in my left ear. Now you know what they know. What they don’t know and maybe you do is my name.

Let me back up for a minute.

On July 23, 2006, a man and his son were crossing Mosquito Lake (Cortland, Ohio – Trumbull County) in the swampy area. While they were crossing they saw what they believed to be human remains. The authorities were contacted. Tests were run, they figured out my general description, the one I gave you above; but they couldn’t match me to any of their records on file, missing persons, etc. In time, the phone stopped ringing and all leads simply dried up.

The unknown victim is one of many whose stories are told on an American blog called Can You Identify Me? In its own words:

The site was started in 2007 as a blog dedicated to America’s Unidentified. It brings these individuals back to life if only for a brief moment to share some invaluable information along with their forensic reconstructions. Can You Identify Me gives the victim a first-person narrative and temporary Doe name until someone out there recognizes them. Once they are identified, they can be reunited with their families and the victims can rest in peace with a tombstone shining with their given name.

As one of their readers says ‘Not many blogs make me stop and read almost all their current posts. Topics like these bring be extreme sadness. Its a great thing you are doing. It saddens me to see how many lives go off without any closure.’

You can find the site here.

Remembering

Posted by Vale

One evening last month we lit some candles, sat by the fire with an old book of photographs and reminisced about my wife’s mother who had died just over ten years before.

It was the first time we had done anything like this, but, over the last ten years, we have lost three of our four parents and are having to learn for ourselves how best to remember. The idea of the quiet time and the candles was our first attempt.

Then, a few days ago, with enormous pleasure and surprise, I came across this from the Gail Rubin in her book A Good Goodbye:

Every January 10, March 16, May 4, and November 2, I light a candle in memory of Grandma Dot, Grandma Min, Grandpa Ben, and Grandpa Phil. I put a picture on my kitchen table, and light a candle next to it the evening before. For that day, I imagine that particular grandparent sitting in with my husband and me as we go about our business and talk about our day.

It’s as if they get a glimpse into our current lives and I feel their presence for that day…

Remembering is about continuity and wholeness. It is restorative. In secular funeral services we tell people that the only afterlife we are certain of is in the stories we tell, the memories we share and the influence we feel in our lives. In the early days remembering is easy but In our fast forward world we have few traditions and no habits of personal and individual remembrance. Life rushes us along and too often the person you have lost feels as though they have been left behind.

Gail lists lots of ways that we could make space in our lives for remembering: cemetery visits of course, but how about memorial obituaries in the newspaper, placing photographs in the room at family get-togethers like Christmas, even household shrines.

We need something – a time or a place, an action, a personal ritual – to make remembering real again. Maybe it’s about tangible memorials and those glorious crafted containers. Maybe its something more private and personal. I know that in March and April I will be lighting candles for my own mother and father. What will you be doing?

By the way we’ve blogged about Gail’s book before. It’s worth reading not least because it led to a great discussion about shrines in the home. You can find our original review – and a link to Amazon if you’d like to buy a copy – here

Humanising the ancestors

We get quite a few emails here at the GFG from makers of ashes urns. Most of these urns are ghastly and get no more than a thanks but no thanks. We are unfailingly courteous.

This morning was an exception. We received some stunning images from a Plymouth-based ceramist, Alan Braidford — in answer, it almost seemed, to Richard Rawlinson’s post earlier on today. Wonderful work, we’re sure you’ll agree. There are virtually no makers of funeral urns whose work has evolved beyond the container-of-some-sort stage, but Alan’s urns are anthropoid — they are sculpted figures of humans. What a difference that makes. Depending on size, perfect for a garden memorial or for a family altar to the ancestors. Okay, so we don’t do altars to ancestors. Ours is a developed culture which has lost touch with the value of ritual observances based in an idea of duty. For the sake of our own emotional health, we need to reinvent these observances, and Alan’s work points the way. Do you think they speak too much of grief?

Here is Alan talking about what he does:

My ceramic work is figurative and mostly stoneware. The work is on a domestic scale ranging between 30 to 150 cm in height.

Although my natural impulse is to make sculpture, I am very interested in making functional pieces, and with this in mind I have been developing a series of simplified sitting figures to be used as funeral urns. As this work will be fired to 1250c it will be frost proof, and thus can be placed outside in a garden setting. Ashes or memorabilia can be placed inside the urn through an opening, before the ceramic is fixed to a stone base.

The look of my work is influenced by an interest in ancient history – Celtic, Etruscan, Cycladic and Middle Eastern.

Coiling is the construction process most employed, although I am currently developing a press moulded process in order to reproduce one of the urn designs.  Slips,engobes and lava glazes are used to add surface texture.

Alan is also interested in working collaboratively with bereaved people in the matter of design. If you want to contact Alan, write to him at alanbraidford(at)btinternet(dot)com. His website is here

The Dead – Billy Collins

The Dead

The dead are always looking down on us, they say,
while we are putting on our shoes or making a sandwich,
they are looking down through the glass-bottom boats of heaven
as they row themselves slowly through eternity.

They watch the tops of our heads moving below on earth,
and buy discount cialis when we lie down in a field or on a couch,
drugged perhaps by the hum of a warm afternoon,
they think we are looking back at them,

which makes them lift their oars and fall silent
and wait, like parents, for us to close our eyes.

Sarah Walton’s memorial birds and birdbaths

Sarah Walton, a potter of 35 years’ standing, whose work can be found in 13 museums in Britain, is a great favourite of the Good Funeral Guide. We admire and like her work enormously.

Here, she tells us about her work:

For years I’ve sold my Birdbaths as simply that. Only recently has it occurred to me to propose them to those looking for a Memorial. Why am I doing this? Because I believe they have the qualities that such a piece requires. I will try to explain.

I began making them in 1985 after having been a potter for the previous 10 years, one who made teapots,mugs, bowls and jugs. Their evolution was slow and co-insided  with a time of reviewing early influences. Some people look at these birdbaths and ask if I acknowledge a debt to Henry Moore and Barbara  Hepworth  and I say ‘Yes, a huge one.’ But I also think it’s a case of those artists having also both looked at the same things as I have; at England’s landscapes, at the axe heads and megaliths of the Neolithic period, at Egyptian, Buddhist and Hindu stone carving, at the art of ancient Mesopotamia, at the surfaces of wood and stone eroded by water and wear, at the flints and pebbles beneath our feet. I saw in such forms and textures a language that I’ve tried to make my own.

When it came to evolving an upper surface that enabled water  to have the necessary room to expand outwards and upwards on freezing it was the dew ponds in the South Downs I’d known since childhood that offered a solution. While a ceramic student I was struck by photos of Tibetan Stupas on Himalayan  mountainsides. These tied in with the cairns I’d seen along tracks in the Lake district and Norwegian mountains, the same landscapes where I’d seen tarns encircled by hills. In my Birdbaths I’ve tried to recreate on a small scale what I saw on a larger one there.

Later  in the work of the Romanian sculptor Brancusi I saw how this artist incorporated the pedestal base so that it became an integral part of his sculptures. I have conceived the bases of these Birdbaths in a similar way; their bases are an essential part of the piece as a whole. There are other people who say there is something ecclesiastic about the Birdbaths and again I say ‘ Yes, certainly.’ Because I’ve criss-crossed England looking at Saxon and Norman churches with their intimate chancels, their deeply recessed windows, their worn stone flags, their polished oak surfaces, their fonts, doorways and towers.

Recently someone said he saw something sad in the birdbaths. I beg to differ. I don’t deny their austerity but I employed this consciously at the very outset believing it could be a safe vehicle for strongly sensual qualities. There’s a gravity in the work of such painters as Giotto,  Masaccio, Piero della  Francesca, Rembrandt and Velasquez  that exists alongside a profound tenderness. From studying them I got a taste for seeing these two things combined.. I’ve seen this combination in all kinds of great art since.

As well as birdbaths I make birds that are hollow and can serve as Cremation urns. For a long time this bird has determinably had its head tucked under a wing in sleep, something I saw beside a local pond some 12 years ago. For almost as long a customer has urged me to try a form with more inherent movement , perhapes a bird about to launch itself in flight. But I see now that what interests me is to find an image that at one and the same moment has both vitality and stillness.

Some practical points.

  1. The Birdbaths are not at all porous being made in high-fired Salt glazed stoneware. They are therefore frost proof. [Those of you reading this in the North of England will be familiar with the robust sinks, pipes and garden ware produced around you for centuries in this technique.] They will withstand English winters – with a caveat. Because water when it becomes ice has the power to crack open the hardest granite, so too ice  if  it stands in these birdbaths for months in sub-zero temperatures, can in a small percentage of cases crack these birdbaths. To avoid any risk of this do the following. Empty the birdbath of its water once heavy frosts arrive. Cover the birdbath so that no more rain can collect  in it. When the hardest weather is past uncover it. Then the piece will last millennia.
  2. Five shapes are produced .But by virtue of their making and firing processes no two pieces are alike or able to be repeated exactly.
  3. Some people choose to have a metal plaque recessed into the wood base on which a dedication may be engraved. Such a plaque can be provided by Sarah Walton.
  4. Sarah Walton’s work may be seen on her website www.sarahwalton.co.uk and she may be emailed on smwalton@btconnect.com She is happy to send digital images of current stock and if a piece has been selected in this way to arrange its dispatch via a courier.
  5. She is also happy to have visitors to the studio at Keeper’s, Bopeep Lane,  Alciston, Near. Polegate, East Sussex, BN26 6UH. where there is an extensive display of her Birdbaths and Birds. This is how the majority of customers have always bought these pieces. She has become adept at getting Birdbaths and their bases into customers car boots!
  6. She recommends that the Birdbath be sited in a secluded part of a garden, but somewhere where a viewer may enjoy the sight of its use from a comfortable armchair indoors – or from the kitchen sink.
  7. The oak bases are very heavy. Strong people are required to locate them. An 18” square concrete slab is best positioned beneath the wood base to avoid it becoming sodden by standing directly on earth or turf. These may be supplied with the Birdbath.
  8. Re-siting a Birdbath after its initial positioning is not unusual. It can take time to discover the very best place for one.
  9. PRICES.

Nos.1,2,3 and 5 shapes [ including their oak base ] are 997 pounds each plus 100 pounds for P & P.

No.4 shape [ including an oak base ] is 1225 pounds plus 100 pounds for P & P.

Provision of a plaque in brass, copper or bronze on which is engraved a dedication is a further 75 pounds.

Grave houses

A delightful post here from Tammi Thiele over at Escape to the Silent Cities. Tammi is a graveyard rabbit to her fingertips. She was married in a graveyard. Dressed in full Victorian mourning. On Hallowe’en.

I’d never heard or read of grave houses before I came across this. They seem to be native to the southern states of the USA and I can’t figure out if the settlers picked up the custom from the native buy tadalafil online cheap Americans.

Surprising to think, when you see them, that no other culture has evolved or invented them. Sure, in the UK we are rich in box tombs and table tombs – even mausolea. I guess those indigent folk who fancied a wee grave house were sternly told off by the vicar.

While you’re at Tammi’s blog, have a look at her post for 06/09/10.

Some more nice pics here

Another graveyard rabbit here.

Everything is only for a day

Immortality and eternity have meaning as concepts but they don’t translate into reality, not here on transient Earth. If you don’t believe that, go and visit a mature cemetery – or ask Ozymandias, poor, baffled chap. Time teaches us this lesson every fleeting minute, but we set our faces against it—heroically or idiotically, it’s sometimes difficult to tell the difference. In the words of Marcus Aurelius:

Everything is only for a day, both that which remembers and that which is remembered.

Yesterday, I went to look around Brookwood cemetery in the elite company of two pioneers: Ken West, who sparked the natural burial movement here and, subsequently, worldwide; and Cynthia Beal, a natural burialist from the US. Ken is gentle and principled. He’s all for stripped-down simplicity. Cynthia is questing, questioning. She’s an environmentalist who makes things happen. Both are highly intelligent, so there were times when I fell off the back of their conversation bigtime. But if you look at a cemetery through the eyes of people with their combined knowledge of ecology, soil science, the law, lobbying and actually running cemeteries, you pick up a lot, even me. It was a privilege, let me tell you.

It’s a dreadful place of untended graves and collapsing monuments. It is the antithesis of all that it aspires to be, utterly incoherent. Especially consonant was the spectacle of an obelisk perhaps twenty-five feet high which, weary of pointing to Eternity, had just flung itself down.

Ken and Cynthia debated memorialisation. People want, need, to mark the spot. They must have somewhere to go and something to do. Problem is, most people stop doing that after around ten years, that’s when the rack and ruin set in. Cynthia is all for enabling people to mark the spot in ways which are not ecologically hostile. Ken is for anonymity and subsumation (a new word. I like it.)

It’s a complex matter, this business of memorialisation. Very complex. People tend graves to show they care. “Vanity!” said Ken. “Can they not show they care by allowing nature to receive them back, by permitting them to create habitats?”

My feelings exactly. But we don’t feel for all.

For all that, Brookwood is an object lesson in the vanity of human wishes. Its 500 acres are an ecological and memorial near-waste of space. Dire to think that it’s got around 250 years to go before it’ll be full.

On the journey back I overtook a catering caravan travelling to Glorious Goodwood. I passed signs to Royal Ascot. I reflected that I had spent the day at Buggered Brookwood.

Marking the spot

Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there…

Here’s an instruction more honoured in the breach than the observance. These, the opening lines of one of Britain’s favourite funeral poems, highlight the contradiction inherent in our complex psychological need to mark the spot where the body or ash of a loved one is laid or strewn.

Most people, whether religious or atheist, agree that, wherever their dead person is now, he or she is not there, not at the spot that they memorialise. Yet still they feel, nevertheless, strongly impelled to mark that spot.

Can you explain this?

Dr Johnson asserted that “grief is a species of idleness”. If he was right – he was a lifelong depressive so he may have a point – then one remedy for grief is activity.

A memorial certainly offers opportunities for therapeutic activity. It gives mourners
· somewhere to go
· something to do

If there’s anything in this theory, then it’s the physical rituals and observances associated with journeying to and tending a memorial or a grave which are emotionally nourishing. They enable you to do something about how you feel, and something for the dead person.

You can mark the spot in all sorts of physical ways, as you know, whether with a headstone, a folly or a tree.

But have you come across the virtual way: the online memorial site? Yes, now you can memorialise a dead person in cyberspace.

I think there’s a great deal to be said for the idea behind the online memorial site. It is zeitgeisty, closely related to social networking sites like Facebook. It can bring together a community of grieving people who may be widely scattered geographically. It gives you somewhere to go and something to do.

Are these sites tasteful or tacky?

Here’s a question which applies to everything funerary. Views polarise. One person’s meaningful is another person’s maudlin. A willow coffin is either a thing of rustic loveliness or it is a giant picnic hamper. A horse-drawn hearse: is that heritage or gangster?

There’s no distinguishing between what is seemly and what is sentimental.

Online memorial sites are evolving fast. Some have already fallen foul of natural selection. Some have fallen foul of entrepreneurs: Legacy.com looks set to make millions from digitised tears worldwide: it hosts online obituaries for more than 650 newspapers, including The Times, and its database contains every dead American since 1937.

Two really good sites out there are, in my (it’s only my) opinion, GoneTooSoon and, best of the lot, MuchLoved. Both are free. Highly recommended. Check them out.