Cemetery in Heavenly Sun...

Climbing up a series of steep steps from the centre of St Etienne towards the perpendicular, aptly named Rue de L'Eternité, I finally arrived at Cimetière du Crêt-de-Roc. Whilst in my mind cemeteries are usually synonymous with rather shrouded, secluded areas of town, surrounded by trees and generally secured by imposing walls, this site was somewhat different.

Firstly, the sunlight was radiant, throwing bright beams across the greenery and in between the monuments and headstones in a magical way, blazing on the stonework. Meanwhile, the searing midday heat grew in intensity as I meandered along the pathways without any particular direction, just intent on discovering the beauty of what is known locally as Le Père-Lachaise stéphanois.

What is immediately striking here is this dramatic geographical position; high above the hustle and bustle of the city below, yet surrounded too by mountains in the distance, creating an impression of exposure yet protection.

Row upon row of tombstones of varied size and stature crisscross the flanks of the hill side, and I loved wandering around the oldest of these...

The grounds were enlarged several times following the consecration and inauguration of the site in 1819 and indeed some of the older plots are squeezed together...

Looking at the detailed sculpture and inscribed names led me, as always, to wonder who these individuals were, what kind of life they lived. Many of the traditional symbolic features were included; shrouded urns...

Winged hourglasses, representing passing time and hence our mortality, clasped hands for reunion in eternity, upturned torches for life extinguished...

Naturally, angels towered over their charges...

Whilst mourning figures in their austere, draped clothing covered their grief-stricken faces...

Ivy cloaked itself across the monumental stonework, its bright green setting off the blazing blue skies above...

Even the deteriorated monuments seemed all the more mysterious...

And with their own grandeur and grace...

And even a certain elegance...

Some a little sad in their decline...

Others majestic...

And finally, a tantalizing glipse of the deceased in photographic image, their likenesses caught forever on stone, a 'modern' addition that reflects how this was indeed a mid-19th century cemetery.

Throughout a large part of my visit, I was honoured by the presence of a private guide who weaved himself between the graves, guardian of the peace and tranquility of the cemetery in heavenly sunlight!

A Place of Peace... Madron Church.

Set against one of the walls in picturesque Madron Church, itself set in spectacular Cornish countryside with sweeping views over Mount's Bay, is this beautiful tombstone, dating back to the early 17th century.

Gazing at the quaint couple who kneel in devotion, you cannot help but feel a sense of peace and calm, along with the notion that their God-fearing existence in this breathtaking setting must surely have been one of tranquil simplicity, without the frenzied tech-led lifestyles we have opted for in the 21st century.

I wonder what kind of life this gentleman led until his demise in 1621, some 400 years ago? His fine Cornish surname - Maddern - has crossed the centuries, as have indeed many of the other names on the tombstones here, just as in other cemeteries around Cornwall.

Tonkin, Eddy, Rowe, Trembath, Hoskin, Penrose, Nichols, Trelawny, Cargeeg, Nankervis... So familiar are such family names that they remind me of the daily roll call from my schooldays, down the road from Madron, in Penzance!

The graveyard around the church here is well maintained yet naturally inhabited and sometimes invaded by the usual wild plants, bushes and lichen typical of the rather mild climate of Cornwall to preserve a timeless, organic essence...

Some of the greenery seems vibrant and exotic, while other forms appear old, wizened and commonplace...

Many of the gravestones, lean and lilt, as if huddling together to brave the frequent winds that sculpt trees and hedgerows alike into odd, hunched silhouettes on the skyline...

Others appear partially obscured from view, hidden under bows, bushes and shadows...

Celtic forms are visible, carved into the granite in stark designs...

Some of which assume an almost pagan aspect, leading back to the ancient Celtic origins of the land itself and those who inhabited it...

The lands of Landithy - with lan signifying 'sacred enclosure' and dithy referring to a 'celtic holy man' - were given to the Knights Hospitallers in the 12th century. The estate bore an early church which finally lead to what is now known as the Church of Saint Maddern, consecrated in 1336.

The stout tower and squat, sturdy walls of the building before us today date back to the 15th century and are a world away from the soaring heights and architectural feats that were characteristic of the Gothic churches some two hundred years earlier.

Despite the drastic changes in architectural styles over time, the number of relatively early deaths commemorated here make it clear that lives were still brutish and short for a significant proportion of the population and it is hardly surprising that religion provided support when there was precious little else.

The idyllic Cornish landscapes and promoted picture-perfect lifestyles to go with these today lead most of us to assume that lives in centuries past must somehow have been healthy and hearty in these rural settings, far-removed from the hardships associated with the dark, satanic mills of industrial England. And yet the mining and fishing industries offered little but a dangerous, dirty and dismal existence, whilst farming was hardly better.

Coastal existence bore its own challenges, with the treachery of the seas bringing in tow shipwrecks, drowning and flooding - most dramatically perhaps in the latter case with a tsunami recorded in Penzance in 1855 in the wake of the Lisbon earthquake. The sea also enabled marauding of all sorts, with pirates, smugglars and even Spanish invaders at the end of the 16th century. I wonder if our Gentleman John Maddern, as mentioned above, experienced that invasion?

Several artifacts in the church predate our gentleman - notably some of the carved wooden benchends. Did he ever sit on these very benches in prayer?

If so, what did he think as he sat there? Was he accompanied by his wife?

The vaulted barrel ceiling above the nave is decorated with ribs and purloins which creates a spectacular view leading towards the altar, behind the wooden rood screen.

The original rood screen was taken down in the 18th century but was restored in 1880 to dramatic effect - so intricate and yet not overbearing.

Around the church are Tudor roses to demonstrate allegiance to Henry VII following a revolt that led the vicar of the church to feel a certain eagerness to express his loyalty.

Alabaster angels are grouped together in one sculpted work...

Whilst solitary wood-carved greenmen stand guard at the end of benches in the chapel...

Large plaques with their Latin inscriptions look down on the nave passage below, making me regret I can't read their message...

Also on display are the plaques devoted to Lord Nelson whose death in 1808 was heralded by the bells at Madron church, making Penzance the first town in England to learn of his demise. I was more interested in finding traces of the Branwell family (of the Brontës) but more about that another day... In the meantime, here's the view from my walk back home to Penzance!

19th Century Mourners - Grace and Beauty in Paris...

For the last days of a hot summer, I visited the Parisian cemeteries of Père-Lachaise and Passy, looking for - and finding - beauty, peace and tranquility in the tree-lined avenues of these two very different, yet equally majestic sites.

Le cimetière du Père-Lachaise is the best known of the two, and although I have visited it on several occasions in the past, there still remain large parts of its extensive grounds to walk around and admire. Admiration and awe seem to be the natural responses to such an expanse of beautiful tombs set amongst grand trees, all of which is pervaded by an indefinable atmosphere.

Due to the fame of a large number of individuals laid to rest here, the cemetery attracts many visitors, some of whom are not entirely respectful in their desire to sightsee - or rather site-see in this case. The mood of the place is somewhat broken by those eager to photo and film themselves in front of the tomb of a 'celebrity' figure, and this is all the more disruptive when tourist groups do the rounds, tramping noisily along the paths and avenues, calling out to each other at every find. Each to his own, I suppose, but I did wonder what Jim Morrison and others would think of all these 21st century goings-on, not to mention the flowers, fripperies, souvenirs and scraps placed on their final resting place...

Oddly, I personally found that the tombs of many well-known figures were often actually a little disappointing and failed to match the illustrious mark that their 'residents' had left during their lives. These graves were often intentionally sober and their use of marble, with its smooth, timeless surface creates a cold, blank expanse that for me at least seems to underline the void of death.

The evocative nature of the now worn, weathered and time-tarnished stone in the countless plots at both Père Lachaise and Passy was far more moving and added beauty and poignancy in equal measure...

Literally crammed with mausoleums, sepulcres, chapels and all kinds of funerary art in its relatively modest grounds, Passy was certainly an incredible experience, with the Eiffel Tower as a backcloth and the avenues and alleys of the cemetery all to myself. Not a tourist in sight! It seemed to offer peace and sanctuary to the living and deceased alike, and yet just beyond its high walls, the hustle of bustle of Paris life went on, undeterred or unaware perhaps of the presence of this city of the dead.

The greenery and gravestones were dappled by sunlight in both cemeteries, and the air of sadness for past loss and the unsurmontable sorrow of those left behind offset by the sense of Life's continual movement forward.

It also struck me that Père Lachaise and Passy, in common with the majority of cemeteries, almost exclusively use the female form to express loss and life, mourning and maternity, turmoil and resignation in sculpted figures of grace and great beauty. The masculine form is not used in the same manner, or certainly not to the same degree, presumably not only for aesthetic reasons but also notions of masculinity...

Some of these mourners are naturally presented as winged angels, eternally grieving and guarding the departed with their gentle presence.

Gazing beyond to another realm or staring downwards, downcast and despondent...

Both angels and the mere mortals clutch symbols of life eternal or those of death; flowers, flames, wreaths and urns as they stand as silent sentinels at the entrance to tombs...

Some tower over passers-by with an almost eerie stance...

Others, consumed by grief, clamber into the sealed mausoleums...

Desperate at their loss, they cannot leave their loved ones...

They wait to enter...

Others have positioned themselves proud and upright...

Others point with calm, collected sadness...

Gently strewing flowers as they shed their tears...

Or throw down their tokens with apparent desolation...

The flow of their tears staining the very statue itself...

Whilst others again droop, utterly bereft...

The depth of sorrow in some of these mourning figures is almost palpable as they weep pitifully...

Their covered faces seems to make this all the more tragic...

Yet other mourners are shrouded, their faces virtually hidden from view behind swathes of clothing...

Mourners and the departed are almost interchangeable, concealed by their shrouds and tears...

I suppose it is a little strange to say that I found my visit to Père Lachaise and Passy uplifting, but in these times of rapidity and rapaciousness being able to take the time to wander around beautiful grounds, surrounded by such art - albeit funerary - is precious. For these are places full of meaning and grace that have lasted far longer than we ever will.