For decades the
only attraction that churchyard gravestones (headstones, grave markers) have
had for me has been the rich patterning of lichens and ivies – for which the
stone has provided such a perfect home and purchase. And only after my
encounter with the remarkable headstones at Stone–in–Oxney and Boughton
Monchelsea did I realise that – in certain locations – the symbols and imagery,
obscured to greater or lesser degrees by organic encrustations, were rich in
historical and anthropological associations.
The headstone illustrated below was one that I came across in the
graveyard of the Parish Church of St Mary and St John the Evangelist,
Hinxton, south Cambridgeshire. As with the headstone at Stone–in–Oxney, I
looked at it completely nonplussed. What was the gravy boat shaped vessel? An
oil lamp? Was the ornamental central pot a handle to the lid of the vessel? And
what were the curious diagonals behind the vessel? Once again I had to appeal to
my friend Adrian Barlow for an explanation: I could not have asked for more,
and I print it below the photograph, to give readers a chance to apply their
minds to my initial complete puzzlement. Classics scholars should have no
problems . . .
[Click on images to enlarge]
The curious diagonals
are reversed flaming torches, in Greek and Roman iconography a symbol of death.
The bowl is on the one hand a kylix, a Greek drinking vessel used
at a symposium, and so symbolically drunk dry at the end of life (hence in Macbeth,
“The wine of life is drawn, And the mere lees is left this vault to brag on”
2.iii.94-5). On the other hand it is the golden bowl of Ecclesiastes Ch.12,
6-7: “Or ever the silver cord be loosed, or the golden bowl be broken, or the
pitcher be broken at the fountain, or the wheel broken at the cistern. Then
shall the dust return to the earth as it was: and the spirit shall return unto
God who gave it.”
I’m not sure about
the jar with the lid at the centre of the design, behind the bowl: it could be
a cinerary urn, (An urn for holding a person’s ashes after
cremation, especially as used by Classical and prehistoric cultures.) perhaps.
Compare the leaf decoration on the lid with the image I attach. I think this is
the most likely explanation – especially since, in Greek and Roman practice,
the torch was carried in the funeral procession and then used to set light to
the pyre.
(Adrian Barlow)
 |
| Glass blown cinerary urn, from Pozzuoli Italy, c. 1st or 2nd century |
I think Adrian is certainly right about the small pot being a
funerary urn. I had assumed it to be an ornamental handle to a lid on the
vessel I could not identify (and I’m sure its separation would have been clear
when the stone was fresh from the mason’s yard). It seems that the mason had
drawn – part–consciously (and perhaps in large part unconsciously) – from centuries
of funerary symbolism: seeing that which was originally polytheistic (or even
perhaps pagan) through Christian eyes. If he had the golden bowl of
Ecclesiastes in mind, then he has perhaps imagined it as a kylix. Certainly, he would not
have had Greek and Roman symposia in mind, devoted – as they so often were – to
earthly pleasures. As to the reversed flaming torches, would he have known
their origin, or would they have been taken from a pattern–book, and simply
used according to the designs developed over time and available to the
customer? (The original derivation of the flaming torches was the Classical
Olympic Games: the torch signified life when held up, and Thanatos or Death
when held down – and how clear are the representations of flames in stone
relief when you know what they are!) The following passage – on the symbolism
of the urn – makes it clear that masons were often ignorant of the significance
of the components of their designs:
In many
cases it is obvious that the precise use of the urn was a mystery to the
country masons who regarded it as an ossuary, as can be seen in several cases
stretching from the fens to Bedfordshire, where angels lift lids from urns with
the air of inspecting cooks, to reveal the traditional skull and crossbones
within. (Frederick Burgess, English
Churchyard Memorials, Lutterworth)
 |
| Solid bronze Attic Greek kylix, ca. 480 BCE |
The
handles of the kylix on this headstone do not correspond to
any of those on the Greek drinking vessels, all of which have a gentle upward
curve: both aesthetically pleasing and functional as controlling the level of
the wine when drinking. However, upward inclined handles would not have worked
within the space determined by the headstone as a whole (as traditional within
the period the mason was working). The combination of straight lines and subtle
curves is truly inspired.
The only
other headstone that I found particularly interesting – and delightful – is
illustrated below. I don’t feel particularly inclined to attempt an analysis of
this scene – though perhaps I should. On the one hand it seems to be a
straightforward expression of peacefulness: a cherub reclining and relaxing in
the rays of the sun – breaking dramatically through the clouds – in Heaven or
Arcadia. On the other hand, could it possibly be a representation of the Infant
Christ? And what of the lily held in his hand? The lily would appear to be an
attribute of the Virgin Mary, and therefore of purity. However, it seems
unlikely that such a claim about the life of the deceased would be made.
Perhaps the mason plucked the image out of a pattern–book and used it purely
for decorative purposes . . .
Much more
straightforward in its symbolism is this headstone from St John the Baptist,
Wittersham, Kent. There seems little point in paraphrasing this entry from Signs & Symbols in Christian Art, George Fergusson, Oxford:
Ivy. Symbolically, the ivy has
always been closely identified with death and immortality. Because it is
forever green, it is a symbol of fidelity and eternal life.
The ivy,
which clings to its support, is also a symbol of attachment and undying
affection.
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