Samhain/Hallowe’en Visit: Highgate Cemetery

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Well this is the time of year to think about or ancestors. To remember them and where we have come from because of them. But I was thinking, not only should we remember those directly linked to us but how about those who through their existence have directly or indirectly affected us?

I have always been interested in the cemeteries, places of supposed haunting; I find them peaceful and intriguing. Whenever I am in a new area I visited the local cemetery. Not only is it normally a lovely place for a walk, most having beautiful gardens and tree areas, it is also a place where you can learn things.

Highgate cemetery is local to some of my family and one I have visited over the years quite often. They have in the past held “ghost visits” at Hallowe’en to those brave enough to try them.
Highgate cemetery is in London and has lots of “residents” from the inconsequential to the most revered. Open to visitors, although only when a funeral isn’t taking place, you can visit the graves of those who have had a touch of improvement (or maybe otherwise!) on our world. Whether it be the written influences of someone like Douglas Adams (author of Hitchhikers Guide..) or Farzad Bazoft a journalist, executed by Saddam Hussein's regime, or the work leading to the invention of electric dynamo by Michael Faraday, physicist, through to Karl Marx there is someone there who will make you stop and think. To be grateful of whom we are and how we got to be there. Not to mention it is just the most fantastic place of Victorian Gothic to study!

So next time you are passing one, have a look, the messages engraved on the stones should be enough to make you think, if not at least the surroundings are worth a visit.

Our Samhain Altar

Our altar has various things on it that we have collected or made on special days so they may look like not a lot but they mean so much.

The wreath is our take on both a celebration of our ancestors and of the beauty that nature provides. The names you can see are the direct ancestors for Littleun and me going back to the 1700’s. I thought it was a nice way to teach Littleun about the family tree without the usual lines etc. The two photos are of my grandmothers. Although I was quite young when they passed on I have many memories of them, my grandma Lilian on her hands and knees with my sister and me making paper-chains (she was 73 at the time) or her bringing us eggs and toast in bed as we’d stayed overnight (think we were only 3 & 6 and have never been allowed this at home). Or my grandma Irene taking us to the seaside and making us “princesses of the sea” awarding us with our pageant sashes, made from seaweed found on the beach and our shell orbs. And the saying “butter to the edges so the snails can’t go round” though which one said this is a point debated often, I think it was grandma Lilian, my sister grandma Irene!

The bowl in the corner has barley in it, and we will make the rest of our offerings tonight. Currently the house smells gorgeous of soda bread and other various lovely things. Have a pot of mulled wine on the go too….

Blessed Be.

One hour to delay the coming Winter.

This weekend gone we have changed our clocks back from British Summertime to GMT and the difference is immediately noticeable. The coldness has snapped back in, though that’s probably due to the wonderful cloudless sunny days we’ve had and we have the sharp smells of coal and wood fires being lit as we walk home in the early darkness. With eagerness I find Autumns treats knowing that Winter is around the corner. I love this time of year. It’s good for reflection and starting anew, becoming more aware of our surroundings as everything seems clearer after the heated haze of summer. As this is also the time of year when we remember our ancestors I thought I’d share a poem that my Grandfather wrote. Hope you like it.

One hour to delay the coming Winter.

‘Tis winter time, wind back the clocks,
We have an hour to spend:
A bonus from the day in spring
When time was free to lend.

Waste not that hour when the clock strikes two
In restless sleep unplanned;
For we may live luxuriously,
With golden time in hand.

Across the hills, let’s greet the sun,
That fades the waning moon,
And wake the birds upon the bough
For we may call the tune.

And tread a path through autumn leaves,
In woodlands golden brown,
Or in the breeze that sweeps the street,
Lets dance throughout the town.

Feel free to spend each precious tick,
On treasures quaint and rare,
Or give a moment to a friend
Now that we have time to spare.

And if one part of summer-time
Was rashly spent before,
Then hold my hand and take this chance
To spend that hour once more.

copyright sja2001/PRISM Books