natural burial

Is it just me or do you, too, feel that it seems like a long time ago since there was a consensus on climate change? I signed up to it because I met lots of people I liked and admired who had already subscribed and who read lots of books about it and quoted terrifying scenarios and insisted, “You must see this amazing thing on YouTube.”

I also signed up to it because I don’t understand science but I do trust scientists – in much he same spirit as Hugo Rifkind: “when I can’t be arsed properly to understand something, I tend to defer to those who can. I trust engineers to build bridges and I trust doctors to cure diseases. Likewise climatologists on man-made global warming. Most of them seem to believe in it. They might all be wrong, but they’re less likely to be wrong than I am. Call me a mindless stooge, but that’s good enough for me.”

Now, I guess, there are lots of us who are not so sure. There was the Climategate scandal: all those hacked emails which revealed, in the words of James Delingpole, “Conspiracy, collusion in exaggerating warming data, possibly illegal destruction of embarrassing information, organised resistance to disclosure, manipulation of data, private admissions of flaws in their public claims and much more.” With this scandal came allegations that climate science is driven by a political agenda, post-normal science, which encourages its followers to suppose that it is quite all right to lie if the cause is noble. Again, Delingpole is the one who writes most attractively about this.

No wonder Peter Preston thinks we need an eco-prophet to galvanise us.

If people are going wobbly on climate change, I wonder how they’re feeling about this in the natural burial movement?

Cremationists have always been proud to boast that what they do saves land for the living. It’s true. That more than 70 per cent of Brits opt for the burning fiery furnace saves around 200 acres a year.

Having said which, and having visited a number of natural burial grounds, I find myself seeing natural burial potential almost everywhere, these days. There is a great deal of land which presently does nothing but look after vegetation, birds and insects. Let’s use it!

Here in Redditch we have a New Town built by seriously socialist planners. It was created to house overspill Brummie working folk in bucolic surroundings. There is a road system which looked great on paper. It incorporates the UK’s only clover-leaf road junction, of which we are overweeningly proud. Our roads constitute a nightmare of featurelessness and dementedly speeding vehicles, with ne-er an enforced speed restriction to be seen. That’s a downside (don’t get me started). But we also have a People’s Park, in the midst of which, dug out of virgin farmland, we have a people’s lake with lakeside parking, lakeside cafe, lakeside visitor centre, lakeside play area and even a tarmac lakeside path. Here, of a Sunday afternoon, we, the good people of Redditch, like to take the air. The shade of Joe Stalin surveys our jostling prams and Staffies, and he smiles.

In the middle of our lake we have islands. I can never gaze at them without thinking what excellent natural burial grounds they would make. There’s a problem with accessibility, of course, and this is what makes them such excellent habitats, but it may daunt those who wish to visit a grave frequently. They could wave and call out from the lake’s edge, of course; it’s only 50 metres away. Would the good people of Redditch settle for a boat trip on, say, four appointed days a year to lay flowers and join in a ceremony of remembrance? I wonder… You could call the islands names like Avalon, Lyonesse, Shambhala. Shall I put this to the town council?

No, I don’t think I have the requisite number of days left in my life. But that has not quelled the notion.

To believe that every question has an answer is brave and optimistic. To assert the primacy of the head over the heart is the function of intelligence. So, while the animal part of us celebrates mystery and creativity, the analytical side shuns chaos, seeks answers, desires order above all things. Dammit, we need to make sense of things!

Natural burial is a great Idea—a multi-use site, in itself a holistic memorial. Individual memorials? I shall never forget Ken West uttering just one word in answer to that: “Vanity.” My feelings exactly. But when it comes to doing what I played my part in doing yesterday, removing lovingly placed and expensive flowers from a grave in a natural burial ground, wow, that takes some Conviction, let me tell you—for all that those who put them there knew perfectly well that they had agreed not to.

Thomas Friese is an ideas sort of man, and he has an Idea. He rejects the natural burialists’ rejection of individual memorials. “This,” he says, “is a short-sighted aspect of its conception, which forgets that a cemetery is not merely a place to dispose of dead bodies but to memorialize and honor human lives. A majority of society will not accept no memorialization; widespread acceptance will thus be impaired.” In response to James Leedam of Native Woodland Natural Burial Sites, he asserts: “We want a cemetery that blends into and is friendly to nature – this means that we must accept that the human buy generic cialis online us pharmacy cultural aspect is curbed: that the flowers get eaten [by deer, say] (or we use artificial ones) and that the stone memorial is forbidden. That flowers get eaten and must be replaced is a small concession to nature’s cause which we can easily accept; but not being allowed any kind of enduring memorial means the line has been drawn too far on the side of nature and human culture has lost its place altogether in the cemetery.”

I’ve been following Thomas for a while. I like him enormously. He’s very, very bright. This doesn’t make him right, but it certainly makes him worth listening to. I swapped emails with James over Thomas’s penultimate blog post and agreed: one of the big questions in all this (if you’re going to have ‘em) is how long should a memorial last? Thomas has an answer to that, of course.

Just as he has no hesitation in declaring that the purpose of a cemetery is “To defeat death, of course!” There’s another interesting Idea. Not so interesting to Christians, for whom a funeral has always proclaimed victory over Death. But those of us who believe that death brings us face to face with the Great Perhaps would possibly hesitate to be so categorical. Thomas makes his case with great and attractive cogency.

I have long wanted to know the full extent of Thomas’s Idea—his Perpetua’s Garden initiative. He’s been keeping it under his hat presumably because to disclose it would expose him to the danger of losing it. This is the problem all inventors face. But he is now willing to share it with chosen folk who are willing to sign a non-disclosure form. If you are interested in discovering “a potential answer to the space problem, one which would allow decent and enduring memorialization and the creation (not just the conservation) of green spaces,” contact Thomas through his website.

You won’t beat me to it.

For some time now I have been nagging natural burialists about the depth at which they inter their bodies. My concern has been that, beneath the topsoil, a body is not going to enjoy the ecologically positive rot envisaged for it.

I have had this response from Emma Restall Orr at Sun Rising. I think that what she says says it all. Thank you, Emma.

Our burial depth is a standard 4’ – 4’6 on very heavy clay. While I know that many local authority cemeteries bury now at a standard 5’ or 6’, to ensure the option for double interment, I am aware of burial in churchyards that is less than this on occasion, such as where a grave is being reopened for the second interment and the initial burial was not adequately deep. I cannot imagine us ever burying at less than 4’ however, particularly as we have no double graves at all.

While we acknowledge there is an image that our remains will feed the tree planted on top of us, this would require us to bury at 2’ and less. But at this depth, the deceased would risk bring disturbed by badgers or foxes. This is not a risk worth taking, nor is it necessary. The idea is poetic, not practical, and we make this clear to any families who enquire.

Though the sentimental images are valuable in the process of grieving and healing, the ethos of a natural burial ground is (for us) real, down to earth, practical care for the deceased, their families, and the environment, not poetry. First of all, most native trees don’t require rich soil, many preferring soil that is not well fertilised. Secondly, however, burial returns the body’s elements back into the cycles of nature, long term – in a way that cremation does not. The planting of the tree adds to the health of those cycles, and the richness of the environment generally. And this is enough.

Interesting story on US National Public Radio (NPR) here.

Do listen to Bernd Heinrich, gentle and wise, talking about what he perceives to be our duty to return to nature in the most appetising way we can.

No coffin for him. Some of the things he says: “You know, being sealed up, totally removed from natural processes that normally occur with every animal on earth is somehow very frightening, it seems unnatural.” He’s not afraid of being eaten: “I find that comforting, to be part of the eco-system … it’s part of the cost, of giving back. I have killed untold hundreds of thousands to live–we all have; to remove ourselves so no one can feed off us seems somehow sacrilegious.”

I agree. With the honourable exception of those cultures which cleave to ancient customs (some Jews, Muslims, Tibetan sky burialists), our corpse disposal practices define humankind’s disconnection from the Earth; they seem to assert that we are not of it. Call it fastidiousness, call it aloofness, call it squalid squeamishness, we do not behave in a way which acknowledges that we are in debt to it and have a duty to return to it in the most useful way we can. We’ll never save this beleaguered planet of ours until we get real and embrace our oneness.

Natural burial is fraught with the dainty denial of destiny, wrapped in euphemisms to shield us from beastliness, preferring prettified aesthetics to earthy, elemental ethics. Yes, it’s pretty much useless if you do it that deep! You’ll only get to push up daisies and buttercups if you enjoy a vibrant, rapid aerobic rot in topsoil or, better still, on the surface. In Hamlet’s words, “We fat all creatures else to fat us,” and therein lies our duty to “fat ourselves for maggots.” Yes, it’s about bugs as much as buttercups. Come on, people, let’s get clear-eyed about this! We need body farms, not burial grounds.

If you like the sound of William Hamilton, here’s that quote in full:

I will leave a sum in my last will for my body to be carried to Brazil and to these forests. It will be laid out in a manner secure against the possums and the vultures just as we make our chickens secure; and this great Coprophanaeus beetle will bury me. They will enter, will bury, will live on my flesh; and in the shape of their children and mine, I will escape death. No worm for me nor sordid fly, I will buzz in the dusk like a huge bumble bee. I will be many, buzz even as a swarm of motorbikes, be borne, body by flying body out into the Brazilian wilderness beneath the stars, lofted under those beautiful and un-fused elytra which we will all hold over our backs. So finally I too will shine like a violet ground beetle under a stone.

Thank you, Cynthia, for the link.

Natural burial ticks alot of eco-boxes—but how many emo-boxes? They’re good for butterflies and vetches and voles and honeysuckle—but are they any good for living people? They may satisfy the head, but can they ever satisfy the heart?

Over in the US, Thomas Friese is developing his website, Perpetua’s Garden, as a place where people can debate human and environmental needs in the matter of memorialising their dead and, he hopes, discover solutions which will enable cemeteries of the future to fulfil a satisfactory dual function. I am indebted to Mr Friese for enriching my own thinking about the matter, and for the link to the following story.

Here in the UK, there’s trouble up at t’natural burial ground in Bridport, Dorset. Angry grievers have, according to the local paper, branded it an “overgrown disgrace”. Most of the graves are now covered by a sea of grass and weeds just as nature intended. Mrs Jill Tuck can no longer see her brother’s grave. When she complained to the council (the owner), she was told she was not supposed to be able to see it. Mrs Tuck is having none of that. She and her husband are going to strim the burial ground. In what we may take to be injured tones, the council protests that they’re not supposed to do that, nor should they plant trees “willy-nilly”.

The council has a point, of course. Mrs Tuck seems completely to have missed the point of natural burial. And it’s not as if the council did not spell out what she was signing up for:

The woodland burial area offers a natural form of burial in an area of wood and grassland and is situated at the far eastern end of the Cemetery. The site contributes towards the creation of a sanctuary for wild plants, birds, butterflies and other small wildlife.

Trees, shrubs and hedges have been planted and pathways cut in the field where wild flowers grow. The burial area is managed to create a peaceful area in natural surroundings. Accordingly, a natural environment is being created and developed that is comforting to visitors and future generations.

But was this enough information to enable Mrs Tuck to make a radical decision at a time of great grief? Was she very carefully talked through her decision? Was she brought to an understanding that natural burial means making what is emotionally a very tough choice because it means, literally, losing the plot?

The two hardest things about natural burial: it gives you nowhere to go (no demarcated grave to stand beside) and nothing to do. Sure, yes, it’s not the grave that commemorates the life, it’s the entire site. But here’s the point: is this site a memorial landscape or is it just any old landscape? What makes it a memorial landscape? And can a landscape like this meet the emotional needs of any but a very few?

Mrs Tuck is not alone. Mrs Henley-Coulson buried her husband in the natural burial ground at Bridport. After two years the grave was so overgrown she lost her way—and started tending someone else’s grave by mistake. Did anyone carefully explain to Mrs Henley-Coulson before she committed herself that you don’t tend graves in a natural burial ground; that it’s not the the grave that commemorates the life, it’s…

Mrs Henley-Coulson has planted bluebells, primroses and cowslips. On the wrong grave. As she rightly says, “Someone is going to have a surprise in the spring.”

She goes on to make some good points. She says:

“Your head is all over the place when you lose someone … Ideally I would like a meeting with the council. I feel they should give leaflets stating what your rights are and what you can expect … I want to know what rules apply – are we allowed to cut the grass ourselves, are we allowed to plant bulbs? What type of trees will they plant themselves and will the grass disappear when they are established or will it resemble a wildflower meadow? All these things are important. We, and I mean everybody, have just suffered a bereavement and cannot always think logically. In my own case I had to make the decision and on reflection feel it may have been the wrong one.”

Stand at any natural burial ground and watch the visitors. Most have eyes for only one thing: the grave. Everything else is peripheral.

Civilisation drives a wedge between us and nature. We prefer the artificial to the elemental, an iPhone to a sunset. When we hit a problem we look to technology to get us out of a hole. Cremation did that very well – till we discovered just what awfulness comes out of those chimneys. Now we look to research scientists and engineers and people who can do clever things with liquid nitrogen to take us forward once more.

When death happens, though, many of us default to the elemental. Some of us like natural burial. Some of us like funeral pyres. Others like the way the Vikings did it.

I’m not aware of much call for sky burial. But we have some very good uplands in the UK and many hungry raptors. I’d like to think that the Natural Death Centre is on to this, campaigning for it, and I shouldn’t be surprised to hear that they are. Hill farmers are finding things very tough at the moment. Here’s how they can diversify.

Don’t know what sky burial looks like? If you have a detached eye and an unqueasy disposition, make your own assessment. Have a look at a video here

Is the Natural Death Centre a national treasure? Undoubtedly.

What is it? It’s a charity which advocates a hands-on approach to preparing for death and arranging a funeral. It publishes The Natural Death Handbook, which is full of practical advice and personal stories. The philosophy of the NDC grew out of that of the natural childbirth movement. The NDC believes that taking control and keeping interventions by strangers to a minimum improves the quality of dying for the dying person and its impact on his or her carers. In the matter of caring for the dead, it believes that taking control is therapeutic.

It has inspired the home funeral and natural burial movement worldwide. That’s something to be proud of.

But because it always had an undertaker-basherly tendency, it was never on the Christmas card list of yer man in the faultless frock coat and glossy topper.

Last summer the NDC suffered an NDE—a near death experience. It ran out of money. Tireless CPR has brought it round.

It’s evolved, and its rationale is detailed by Rupert Callender on behalf of the new board of trustees in the latest Funeral Service Journal. Since this is not a must-read, mass-market, celeb-sprinkled publication, I hope Rupert will not mind me reproducing some of his brilliant and, in places, barnstorming, text here. It is addressed to funeral directors.

The new board consists of a teacher, a psychotherapist, a palliative care nurse, four natural burial ground operators, three of whom are also funeral directors, which moves the NDC from largely theoretical to unashamedly practical.

This does not mean that we will be losing our radical edge or that out ideology has changed; we still believe that the modern funeral had lost its way and needed reinventing, but we are mindful that … the fault for the irrelevance of funerals for many lies with society at large, not just the industry.

When it was formed in 1991 it was seen by many in the industry as an irritant. The green aspects seemed faddish and the social side meddlesome and patronising. Many thought, and hoped, it was just a flash in the cremator. But the changes it has both initiated and reflected have been profoundly good for the industry not only in how it does things but also in how it is perceived.

It might be fair to say that before 1991 … the industry and the public spoke different languages … the public liked to view funeral directors as exploitative and ghoulish … To many funeral directors, the public were hostile and thankless … By occupying this no man’s land and by acting as a translator in some respects as well as helping to air and change some of the more genuine grievances, we at the NDC think we have moved things forward and brought some mutual understanding and respect to both sides.

The NDC, says Rupert, is not a green pressure group but a movement for social progress. He examines the impact of the decline of religion on funeral directing, acutely observing: No longer does responsibility change hands at the door of the church or crematorium.

He looks ahead to the future and declares that the NDC will drive innovation and act as the industry’s imagination and conscience.

And he finishes on a conciliatory note: For some of you we will always be the troublemaking lunatic fringe … We hope you will view us as colleagues, not the enemy within … together we can create something that works for everybody.

That the NDC can identify so much common ground with funeral directors shows just how much it has achieved. Does all this smack of cosiness? Nah. The radical, visionary edge is back alright.