The angel that almost did me in.
When we were kids, my siblings and I used to play a game called "ghost in the graveyard." The problem is that it never was all that scary and I have never (until this trip) been able to figure-out why.
Graveyards (the word is much more sinister sounding than the more pedestrian “cemetery”) in the states don’t have the right atmosphere. It is either the fog that you leave trails in as you walk through it, or it is the fact that you have much older church yard cemeteries here, I am not sure. It could also be that the graves here are all adorned with great gothic tombstones, towering Celtic crosses, or impressive statuary. All, of course, canted to odd angles by the weight of the years they have been standing sentinel over the dearly departed.
I think I now get the fear that people used to (and children still) feel in graveyards.
This morning, as I walked back to my hotel in the fog, the conditions were just right to summon a gothic novel to mind as I walked through the church yard. Now, let me tell you about St. Nicholas Church. Its sign proudly proclaims it as a 1200 year old church. It is not hard to picture it being so. The yard is a jumble of tombs, grave markers, grave covers, and plot dividers from all eras of the last twelve hundred years.
The plots in its yard are packed tightly and some of the stones are so worn by the weathering that it is unclear when – or if you are unfamiliar with the concept of a church graveyard, why – they were erected. There are stones of all shape and description. The stones are also in every state of decay; not from lack of care, mind you, they are just incredibly old! It isn't hard to imagine that some of them may well have been in place before Columbus left to find the westward passage to the east.
I made my way back to the hotel the fog was really thick. I was visibly leaving a wake in the fog behind me. (I know! I noticed that a car that passed me was leaving wake so I turned around and walked backwards and sure enough, so was I!) As I passed into the graveyard, the security lights on the small church were heavily diffused and weakened by the shroud of fog. It was just as I was passing this dear angel (nothing more than a looming, dark hulk in the fog) that a fox darted from where it had been hiding and bolted along the path not three feet in front of me. (Any further away and I would probably not have seen it.)
The combination of the sudden motion, the lack or range to my vision, the amorphous shape of the creature, and the flowing curls of fog that followed it as it ran made my mind race with possibilities. Ghosts and ghouls crawled out of one grave and into another in my mind. (I see way too many movies!) I jumped to get out of its way as it darted past me and almost conked myself out on what’s left of the angel’s down-turned arm. Which, of course my mind turned into the angel jumping at me.
I knew I was only ten-to-fifteen paces from the border of the church yard so I made for where I remembered the gate to the road being and walked smack into a Celtic cross that was canted over the path. (Okay, yes, I saw it as it approached and ducked under it at the last second.) It wasn’t so much that the ordeal frightened me… but the eerie silence of the streets as I made my way through the fog the rest of the way to the hotel was still not enough to still my heart and steady my breathing. Suffice it to say if I get no sleep tonight, I will know the cause of my insomnia!
Depending on when you are reading this I wish you either sweet dreams or a great day!
Don Bergquist – Awake again early in the early morning in Thames Ditton, United Kingdom – 14, December, 2004
When we were kids, my siblings and I used to play a game called "ghost in the graveyard." The problem is that it never was all that scary and I have never (until this trip) been able to figure-out why.
Graveyards (the word is much more sinister sounding than the more pedestrian “cemetery”) in the states don’t have the right atmosphere. It is either the fog that you leave trails in as you walk through it, or it is the fact that you have much older church yard cemeteries here, I am not sure. It could also be that the graves here are all adorned with great gothic tombstones, towering Celtic crosses, or impressive statuary. All, of course, canted to odd angles by the weight of the years they have been standing sentinel over the dearly departed.
I think I now get the fear that people used to (and children still) feel in graveyards.
This morning, as I walked back to my hotel in the fog, the conditions were just right to summon a gothic novel to mind as I walked through the church yard. Now, let me tell you about St. Nicholas Church. Its sign proudly proclaims it as a 1200 year old church. It is not hard to picture it being so. The yard is a jumble of tombs, grave markers, grave covers, and plot dividers from all eras of the last twelve hundred years.
The plots in its yard are packed tightly and some of the stones are so worn by the weathering that it is unclear when – or if you are unfamiliar with the concept of a church graveyard, why – they were erected. There are stones of all shape and description. The stones are also in every state of decay; not from lack of care, mind you, they are just incredibly old! It isn't hard to imagine that some of them may well have been in place before Columbus left to find the westward passage to the east.
I made my way back to the hotel the fog was really thick. I was visibly leaving a wake in the fog behind me. (I know! I noticed that a car that passed me was leaving wake so I turned around and walked backwards and sure enough, so was I!) As I passed into the graveyard, the security lights on the small church were heavily diffused and weakened by the shroud of fog. It was just as I was passing this dear angel (nothing more than a looming, dark hulk in the fog) that a fox darted from where it had been hiding and bolted along the path not three feet in front of me. (Any further away and I would probably not have seen it.)
The combination of the sudden motion, the lack or range to my vision, the amorphous shape of the creature, and the flowing curls of fog that followed it as it ran made my mind race with possibilities. Ghosts and ghouls crawled out of one grave and into another in my mind. (I see way too many movies!) I jumped to get out of its way as it darted past me and almost conked myself out on what’s left of the angel’s down-turned arm. Which, of course my mind turned into the angel jumping at me.
I knew I was only ten-to-fifteen paces from the border of the church yard so I made for where I remembered the gate to the road being and walked smack into a Celtic cross that was canted over the path. (Okay, yes, I saw it as it approached and ducked under it at the last second.) It wasn’t so much that the ordeal frightened me… but the eerie silence of the streets as I made my way through the fog the rest of the way to the hotel was still not enough to still my heart and steady my breathing. Suffice it to say if I get no sleep tonight, I will know the cause of my insomnia!
Depending on when you are reading this I wish you either sweet dreams or a great day!
Don Bergquist – Awake again early in the early morning in Thames Ditton, United Kingdom – 14, December, 2004
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