Taphophile Tours. Cementerio de la Almudena, Madrid, Spain.

This edition of Taphophile Tours explores the Cementerio de la Almudena (Our Lady of Almudena Cemetery) in the Spanish capital of Madrid.

Opened in 1884 the cemetery is by far the largest in the city as well as one of the biggest in Western Europe. With approximately 5 million interments it boasts a considerably larger population than the city itself which has just over 3 million living inhabitants.
The scale of the place is totally overwhelming. It is a necropolis of bright concrete and eerie silence complete with street signs and a bus stop in the middle. The sheer size of the location cannot be understated. With row after row of identical concrete memorials each section becomes indistinguishable from the last. You turn a corner expecting to find the perimeter wall only to be faced with yet another block of tombs. Death on a city scale is unrelenting and the cemetery has to continuously expand it’s already vast area to accommodate.
When you eventually locate the permiter wall there’s no respite as the wall itself is a seemingly endless strech of tombs reaching well beyond the perifary. You can spend fifteen, twenty or even thirty minutes walking alongside the wall where the only space that isn’t an inhabited tomb is the onmious site of an empty plot waiting for a new occupant. A dark square blip in the giant mosiac of tombs. Some are decorated with ornamental flowers and splendid plaques containing photographs of the deceased while others simply contain a humble name scrawled in pen.

The entire cemetery is testimony to the effort humans will go to create an artificial environment for themselves, even in death. Greenary is rare. The predominate colours are the grey, white and magnolia of the immense onslaught of concrete. Wildlife is limited to a few solemn birds who prey on lizards that dart between cracks in the tombs. Rare bursts of colour are provided by artificial flowers placed in metal vases.

A famlier character you will encounter a lot is the son of god himself. Many of the graves contain effigies or statues of Christ in various stages of discomfort and sorrow. He adorns family tombs and mausoleums as well as graves of individuals. His omnipresence along with various depictions of the Virgin Mary alludes to Spain’s strong Catholic history.

Family mausoleums are popular within the older sections of the cemetery. Where generations of the same family are laid to rest in their own small chapel. It is obvious which ones are regularly maintained by surviving relatives.

Despite its artificial architectural structure the Cementerio de la Almudena  is well worth a visit to attempt to grasp its sheer size as well as appreciated the impressive sculptures of religious icons. Just don’t expect a quick visit and bring some form of GPS device!

Esteban

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For some Taphophile Tours closer to home check out:

Taphophile Tours. Brompton Cemetery part one and part 2.
Taphophile Tours. Colchester part one and part 2.
Taphophile Tours. Kalenvankankaan Cemetery, Tampere Finland.
Trapising over Tombs. London’s best macarbe attraction.

To explore humankinds’ obsession with distancing itself from nature check out:

Exploring Essays. Nature and Man by Bertrand Russell.

Taphophile Tours. Kalevankankaan Cemetery, Tampere, Finland.

Taphophile tours is back with a trip to a winter wonderland . The Kalevankankaan cemetery in the city of Tampere, Finland, provides a unique and stunning spectacle of a traditional Scandinavian cemetery.

The cemetery is dominated by towering fir trees with their thin, escalating trunks which are so captivating it’s easy to miss headstones nestling at the base. The tall and snow dusted woodland resembles an enchanted forest making it easy to forget you’re actually in a graveyard at all.

Angels and cherubs feature prominently. Under the cloudless sky, emitting a crisp white glow, they take on a striking celestial quality. You could actually be in heaven.

Disturbances in the smooth ubiquitous blanket of snow provides visitors with an insight into which graves are still visited and who has long been forgotten. Imprinted footsteps trail towards the recently interred while the older headstones sink beneath the icy carpet. There names lost to the snow. The only patches of brown earth are found on the grave sites of new burials.

At the top of the hill overlooking the entire cemetery sits a giant memorial to those who lost their lives dring the Winter War of 1940. Finaland’s position during World War Two was a difficult and testing time during the countries history. Opting to side with Germany despite not supporting Nazi ideology, a move made out of necessity to defend against the approach of Soviet forces in the north east. Finland’s goal during the war was to maintain independent, a mission they achieved thanks to the men who lie anonymously beneath tombstones hidden beneath thick snow.

The most haunting features of the cemetery are the memorial walls for those who did not get a private plot. A small engraved metal plaque symbolises an entire life that once was. Registered in uniform fashion by attachment to a brick wall along with countless other former lives. These minute memorials are frozen to touch. A chilling physical reminder of the bleakness of death which remains as omnipresent in life as the snow flakes in the cemetery.

Esteban.

For more about the city of Tampere check out the dishevelled travellers’ guide to Tampere

For more Taphophile Tours check out these:

Highgate Cemetery

Brompton Cemetery 

Colchester, Britain’s oldest recorded town.

Or how about some other travel guides for the drunken rambling traveller? Check out:

The dishevelled travellers’ guide to Budapest 

The dishevelled travellers’ guide to Athens 

Taphophile Tours. Brompton Cemetery – Part Two

Part two of the Taphophile tour of Brompton Cemetery in West London looks at the unique features of the grandiose graveyard and ventures into it’s Victorian catacombs. The contents of which are rather gruesome.

Inspired by St Peter’s Basilica in the Vatican, the central focus of the cemetery is the open air cathedral of death known as the great circle. IT definitely lives up to it’s name. The immense crowd of crucifixes and monuments gathered within the confines of the colonnade boundary resemble a packed train station during rush hour. The number of former lives commemorated within the coliseum of impressive classical architecture makes is an immense spectacle.

Beneath the arched walkways of the great circle lie the ominous catacombs. A failed business venture from the Victorian era catacombs were seen as a cheap alternative to traditional burial. Families could shelve their dead like old tins of tuna without forking out for an expensive ground plot and stone monument. Thousands of spaces were created beneath the main structure of the circle, like a giant pantry for corpses, however only a few hundred were ever sold. The serpent guarded iron doors at the bottom of the cracked stairwell let’s you know that there’s something sinister lurking behind those bars. It takes a few seconds for your eyes to adjust to the dark abyss and a further few seconds to compute what you’re actually seeing but, yes, that’s an actual coffin rotting away right in front of you. Thick wooden caskets stacked neatly behind rusting cages. In case someone tries to escape? Each gated entrance you peer through, there’s a fair few in total, presents a scene so disturbing it’s easy to forget that these aren’t props from an extremely realistic haunted house at a fairground. The musky smell exacerbating the uneasiness. Most of us don’t see many coffins in our lifetime so to find hundreds stacked together in one place so openly is a bit of a shock. Fascinating nonetheless. In an extremely macabre way. But then again that’s the reason you peeped through the doorway in the first place. Morbid curiosity.

Away from the gloomy seclusion of the dark catacombs is the leafy east side. In such close proximity to Stamford bridge stadium, home of Chelsea F.C, that you can’t help but wonder if particularly wayward shots at goal end up bouncing off of headstones during matches. Strolling around on game day must be an odd experience as it’s fairly unusual to visit a cemetery with the cheering of 40,000 fans in the background. Not that some of the interments would mind. Chelsea F.C founder Henry Augusus Mears is buried here and would probably be rather proud of his teams success in recent years.

Other notable bones resting at Brompton include Victorian physician and clean freak Jon Snow. The guy responsible for adoption of anaesthesia so thank him next time you’re having a tooth pulled. Revolutionary feminist Emmeline Pankhurst. Art lover Henry Cole who not only established the nearby Victoria and Albert museum but also invented Christmas cards. So thank him next time granny sends you a little card with a robin on the front and a fiver stuffed inside.

It is believed that renowned children’s author Beatrix Potter borrowed many of the names of her most famous characters from the headstones of Brompton gravesites. There’s an actual Peter Rabbet buried here as well as a Mr Nutkins and Jeremiah Fisher. Transport between the world of fiction and reality by paying respects to the remains of your favourite childhood characters who are named after long dead Victorian Londoners stuck in the ground long before you were even born. Poetic.

Esteban.

Click here for part one to read about the bizarre story of Chief Long Wolf , the Sioux warrior buried in London.

Click here for part one and part two of the Taphophile tour of Colchester, Britain’s oldest recorded town.

Taphophile Tours. Brompton Cemetery – Part One

The London borough of Kensington and Chelsea is synonymous with wealth and affluence. It’s the go to district for Russian Oligarchs and Arab tycoons. Snapping up multi-million pound pads and frequenting them for five days of the year. It’s only fitting that an area of such extravagant wealth contains a burial ground of considerable elegance. A short walk from Fulham Broadway tube station just past Stamford Bridge stadium are the vast grounds of Brompton Cemetery, West London’s most chic hangout for the dead. A member of the magnificent seven – the name given to the group of large fashionable London cemeteries established in the 19th century, not a group of superheroes – Brompton is to West London what Highgate is to the north of the city. Opened in 1840 to cater for London’s exploding population of the late Georgian period which left traditional churchyards unable to cope with the increasing number citizens arranging consultations with the grim reaper. The cemetery is an elegant half mile long homage to the dead featuring 35,000 graves containing over 200,000 remains. Following the footpath around the perimeter gives you a pretty good idea of why it’s called a garden cemetery. Long abandoned tombstones give way to weathered tree trunks and expanding bushes. Earthy paths lead to dead ends of anonymous gravesites with eroded blank headstones. The sheer clutter of graves is overwhelming. Wonky tombstones lean against each other like crooked teeth in an overcrowded mouth. Despite being the eternal home of almost a quarter of a million dead you’ll see plenty of life. As you navigate your way over fallen branches and the reaching arms of thorny shrubs the sound of trampling footsteps and heavy panting break the silence. Joggers zip past you doing their best to postpone the day they will join the residents of the very place they are doing laps of. Squirrels dart over headstones as they are chased by one of the many dogs out for afternoon walkies. Owners shout orders at their pooch fearful of being caught by the warden for ignoring the sign indicating that canines must be kept on a lead. You may even get winked at by a coy looking gentleman as, somewhat inexplicably, Brompton has a reputation as a popular gay cruising ground. Apparently looking at memorials to deceased Victorian families gets some guys in the mood for some lovin’. Each to their own. Chief Long Wolf is not the kind of name you’d think to associate with a Victorian cemetery near Earl’s Court but for 105 years the Sioux warrior was buried here. He had died while touring with a Buffalo Bill show in London in 1892. Back in those days burials at sea were popular. This practice involved chucking a corpse overboard like an empty barrel of rum as soon as they’d sailed away from port. Avoiding this watery end the Chief was buried in Brompton and forgotten about until 1997. In what must have been a dazzlingly bizarre sight a as trio present day tribesman, complete with feather head dresses, came to pick up Long Wolf and shipped him back to South Dakota. The story of Long Wolf’s adventures are made even more outlandish by the fact that the chiefs reunion with his homeland was orchestrated by a random housewife from Worcestershire  who had stumbled across his grave after reading about him in an old book. Apparently touring with Buffalo Bill was basically a death sentence, no health and safety law back then, as the Wolfman was joined by the ultra-patriotically named Paul Eagle Star who had also died on tour from a broken ankle sustained while falling off of a horse. Buffalo Bill must have put on one hell of a show.

Look out for part two which takes a peek into the spooky catacombs to check out their gruesome contents.

Esteban.

Taphophile Tours. Colchester – Part Two

The second part of the taphofiles’ guide to tomb hunting in Britain’s oldest recorded town. Having explored the smaller burial sites around the town centre in part one this instalment looks at the larger depositories of death in the former Roman capital of England.

St Martin’s Church

A wonderful example of recycling through the centuries as this medieval church has been restored using Roman era bricks after destruction during – yup you guessed it – the civil war. By the 1950’s people were fed up of telling God how great he is in this building and it fell into serious disrepair. English Heritage restored it just over a decade ago. The identifiable graves range as far back as the 17^th century while many other headstone inscriptions have long since found themselves rendered blank

St. Peter’s Church

Sitting proudly atop North hill St. Peter’s would have had a stunning view of rolling hills and luscious Essex countryside when it was remodelled during the Georgian period. Now you can see a train station and an Asda. Tiptoeing around the hidden back end of the churchyard is a spooky experience. Not because of the threat of a celestial attack but the very real possibility of a junkie leaping out of the bushes and spitting hepatitis at you. Discarded syringes, burnt table spoons and soggy cardboard mattresses let you know that it’s not just the dead who frequent this site. Wear thick soled boots. Don’t touch anything.

Colchester Cemetery

By the 1850’s all the churchyards around town were full and closed for funerary business. At this time Colchester cemetery opened just outside of town to accommodate for citizens who just won’t give up this nasty habit they all have of eventually dying. The cemetery is a sprawling space with patches of decaying sparseness surrounding the main entrance which merge into sections of tightly packed crowdedness towards the back. You are greeted with long the abandoned crumbled tombs of the early 20th century however as you venture to the rear it is clear that this is very much a working cemetery with an abundance of very recent additions. The glistening new headstones a stark contrast to the dull and worn monuments just a few yards away. Due to the town’s close ties with the army you’ll find lots of military graves dotted around, particularly from the first world war. Despite being scattered around individually they all share the same design giving the impression of a permanent uniform.

If you didn’t catch part one click here.

Esteban

Taphophile Tours. Colchester – Part One.

 Formally the Roman capital of Britain this town was once the main settlement in the far northern outpost of one of histories greatest ever empires. Colchester – Camulodunum as it was known back in Ceasar’s day – is England’s oldest recorded town. Today you’re more likely to see it as the location for an episode of Booze Britain. It was the site of an important siege against the royalist army during the English civil war. The only battles you see take place now are between Mark Wright wannabes smashing each other over the head with bottles of Rekorderlig strawberry flavour for the honour of a bleach blonde celebrity big brother fan who couldn’t tell you what the chemical symbol for hydrogen is despite 99% of her head being filled with it. Fortunately the towns’ rich and far reaching history make it an attractive destination for the taphophile tourist. Here’s part one (click here for part two) of a collection of snaps from the the churchyards surrounding the town centre with a little history thrown in. Enjoy.

St Mary At-The-Walls.

An interesting name made all the more intriguing by the fact that the roman wall surrounding Colchester is the very same one Humpty Dumpty supposedly fell off of. Apparently the story was inspired by a one eyed gunman firing at parliamentarians during the civil war from atop the church tower. The roundheads eventually toppled him and his gruesome death amidst a bloody battle inspired the children’s tale about an unruly egg spilling his yolky guts all over the pavement.

There’s an anti drinking advert in this somewhere…

St Boltoph’s Priory

A monastery built in the Norman era. It was dissolved – metaphorically, not in acid – during the early 16th century when Henry VIII decided to ransack priories and convents because he needed more money for his favourite yet cripplingly expensive hobby of warring with France. After being stripped of it’s assets the building took a further pounding during the civil war. This time a structural pillaging as the same guys who murdered Humpy Dumpty went to town on the building with muskets and cannons. Burials were carried out during the 18th and 19th century leaving the site looking like a set used during one of the battle scenes from the Lord of the Rings trilogy.

Colchester Natural History Museum (Formerly All Saints Church)

It’s amusingly subversive to see the pews and pulpit of a church replaced with glass cabinets filled with taxidermy foxes and seagulls explaining natural selection. The site used to be called All Saints church and was used by the parishioners from the St Boltophs site that the egg smashers blew to bits during the civil war. By the 1950’s the congregation had dwindled and it was converted into the Darwin inspired museum it is today. The graveyard has been left in the capable hands of mother nature who has turned it into a fitting surrounding for the museum. Reminding visitors that no matter how strong the stone you erect is nature always wins.

Holy Trinity Church

Phenomenally old church in the town centre with a tower which dates back to Saxon times. Pop inside to pick up a bead necklace and hand painted plant pot as there’s an arts and craft market inside these days. Fans of magnetics will be excited to note the presence of Elizabethan physician William Gilberd but disappointed the see the fence around the churchyard preventing any gravitational pull his grave may have.

St. Runwalds Street

Part one ends with a lunch recommendation. Just off the high street on a side road next to the town hall is a Pizza Express. There’s nothing special about the Italian chain restaurant itself however touring taphophiles should request a seat by the window. Here you can shove down garlic dough balls while admiring the small early 19th century graveyard which sits behind a large metal fence. Looking somewhat out of place and time boxed in between the back of a large council building and an office car park. Whatever church once stood here has long since vanished but town planners obviously didn’t want to evoke the angry spirits of the late Georgian period so the burial ground has been left untouched and inaccessible. Dine like an invading parliamentarian and order the pizza with a fried egg in the middle.

Click here to check out part two which explores the larger burial sites of Britian’s oldest recorded town.

Esteban.

Traipsing over Tombs. London’s best macabre attraction.

Hospitals, dentists and cemeteries; places avoided if possible. If a visit is absolutely necessary hopefully it’s brief. Therefore a day out at a decaying graveyard may seem rather morbid and uninviting. However Highgate cemetery in North London is a marvellous often overlooked attraction to be enjoyed by more than Goths and Bram Stoker.

 

Single beam of light from a solemn Angel

Divided into two separate burial grounds atop the steep hill leading from Hampstead Heath (say Hi to Dr Van Helsing) Highgate cemetery is the inspiration for every horror movie set ever. While the West cemetery is restricted to guided tours to prevent people vandalizing and straight up stealing shit from graves (no really) you’re free to wander the deathly paths of the East cemetery unaccompanied for the paltry sum of four quid. We are informed this goes towards upkeep. Apparently the dead take pride in their permanent retirement home but are too lazy to take care of it themselves. Shattered tombstones propped up against the entrance shed immediately sets the sombre tone.

Just like the ghost train at the fairground except these ones aren’t made of plastic.

Following the main looping walkway will take you past all the A listers. Socialist god Karl Marx’s outrageously oversized cenotaph (his actual grave is a very much unspectacular affair hidden away amongst the paupers).  Sci-Fi favourite Douglas Adam’s modest headstone where fans symbolically jam biros into the surrounding ground. Punk promoter Malcolm Mclaren’s extravagant monument complete with a Warner Bro’s style shield containing his initials.  Prankster Jeremy Beadle’s (the guy who used to present You’ve Been Framed) novel headstone which despite being less than a decade old looks like it’s been there since the turn of the century. Clearly Beadle is no longer about.  Other ghoulish celebrity highlights include the heroically named Hercules Bellville (producer of that Ray Winston film Sexy Beast) and the intriguing life-sized piano sculpture of ragtime musician Harry Thornton. Interesting to note the recent restoration of the piece and the well worn grass leading to it while neighbouring, less imaginative graves fall into unappreciated disrepair. The impressive are remembered. The plain disappear. Compelling. There’s also a bloke called Peter Perfect. He wasn’t famous or anything but seriously what an epic name! You’ll also find an abundance of structurally exhausted angels gazing up to the heavens, crumbled crucifixes, cracked Celtic crosses and the odd stone dog or two. It’s all very spooky even during broad daylight.

Play it again….

Established in the mid nineteenth century when traditional city churchyards were jam packed to the brim with more bones than they could capacitate Highgate boasts a wealth of Victorian era headstones. Many of which have failed the test of time succumbing to the leafy grasp of flower and fauna. The few to coherently preserve their engraved messages remind you of the chilling fact that people really didn’t live that long. You’ll be hard pressed to find anyone who survived beyond modern day retirement age in the days of top hats, Sherlock Holmes and opium dens. A paralyzing prang of personal dread upon locating somebody whose life concluded at the age you are now. Exacerbated by the fact that the grave obviously hasn’t been tended to in an exceptionally long time. Disturbing. It’s natural to rationalise that these people frequented a different world to you. Of course people died young. Vaccinations, neurosurgery and Calpol had yet to be invented. Harder to suppress is the overall theme of blind caprice. As Highgate is still used as a burial site today those whose longevity stretched into an eighth, ninth or tenth decade rest next to those who didn’t even get a chance to leave the crib. We falsely assume a guaranteed limit of time on this earth. Life is a package deal consisting of seventy years or so minimum with the distinct possibility of an added bonus decade or so. However a concise study of inscribed dates and ages expose this belief as the fallacy it is. A starkly irrefutable reminder of what exactly expected average lifespan is; a statistical mean, not a promise. Unsettling

well this is jolly…

Pondering the dark depths of human uncertainty may get a bit much. A peaceful stroll in the woodlands should alleviate the melancholy. Fortunately Highgate is part graveyard part nature reserve. Towering trees become poignant features for those who venture off the paved routes into the muddy regions of long forgotten souls. Contrary to regular cemetery etiquette smart dress is unadvisable. Hiking boots not polished brogues to prevent succumbing to the comically ironic possibility of slipping on a particularly swampy patch of ground and cracking your head open on the edge of a protruding gravestone. Any sense of psychological peace may be short lived as a trek into abandoned territory brings further despair. While clumsily navigating the inadvertent assault course an abundance of toppled camouflaged headstones produces you begin to understand that the statues and tombstones erected to transcend the biological finality of the names they once proudly displayed have a similar lifespan of their own. Once those touched by the former presence of the interred succumb to their own end the grave becomes unvisited and unkempt. The very existence of the burial site becomes as unknown as the occupant. The gravestone served its purpose and slowly retreats into the earth. Even stone isn’t immortal. Transient. If the terrifying realism of impermanence results in an urgent need to wee it’s practically impossible not to end up literally taking a leak on a hidden grave. If utter disregard for the dignity and respect of the dead is morally repugnant to you it’s best to just hold it in. There are toilets near the entrance. The closest grave to these toilets is that of a woman called Fanny. No really. Look for yourself.

Nature takes over

A striking feature amongst the desolate foliage and shrubbery are the tombstones wearily slumped against great oaks unable to bare their own weight. The eyes are tempted upwards, towards the swaying branches. Up to the highest fluttering golden leaf.  Then beyond to the sky. Then further. Beyond the reaches of visible perspective imagination takes over. Escalating thoughts into the cosmos beyond this world. Perspective becomes transparently clear. You’re an ant in a cemetery which sits upon a little bump of a hill in a city which is merely a small patch on the surface of an island which is nothing more than a spec on a planet insignificant within a galaxy which exists as one amongst an incomprehensible number of others within a universe which is mind bogglingly vast. Dizzying. Your eyes retreat from the grandiose. Back down from beyond the stratosphere. Below the clouds. Underneath the crow’s nests. Returning down along the wrinkled trunk. Back to the tired headstone. The eroded moss covered stone a stark reminder of the reality that while the mind may freely venture into space our physical presence is strictly restrained in the earthly world of decay and mould. Many epigraphs reassure of a peaceful ascent to heaven. A blissful ethereal retirement.  The weathered stone containing these promising words which themselves have faded almost beyond recognition provide the observer, regardless of personal beliefs, with an undeniable reminder that for the time being they are bound to the bodily world. No wonder the positive proverb recommends keeping the chin up. Overwhelming.

Lost to the leaves

This may seem entirely depressing and devastating but central to Highgate’s uniqueness is its ability to catapult a contemplative visitor into the humbling arena of perspective. It’s not just any old sanitised, polished place of rest. Scrambling over abandoned memorials elicits the realisation that the sorry headstones sunken into the dirt and twigs belong to the proverbial winners. Of all the people who have lived, and died, throughout the reaching timeline of human existence only fractions were fortunate enough to elicit memorial from others. These forgotten lives belonged to the lucky ones. Yet even they eventually succumb to the relentless growth of nature. Great equaliser indeed.  Fifty thousand graves contain the final evidence of one hundred and seventy thousand people. If you were able to hear all their final words in unison the sound would be deafening. It’s testament to the power of imagination that one is able to contemplate the lives of the unknown based on the washed out words found on an inanimate stone. The newer tombstones often contain small details beyond a simple name and date which provide additional fuel for thought. An occupation.  Mention of children and grandchildren. A husband or wife. While we are not the only species to bury the dead Highgate cemetery extrapolates the distinctiveness of human consciousness and deliberation. Astonishing. Not bad for less than a fiver.

Shocking…

How is it possible to leave a place like Highgate cemetery without falling into a pit of severe existential depression?  An intriguing location but fun certainly doesn’t come to mind. Why would anyone apart from the most disturbingly morbid individual want to spend an afternoon here? Firstly there’s the peace and quiet. Against the backdrop of darkness and death is an irrefutable sense of serenity and tranquillity. There’s no hustle and bustle. Nobody pushes past you. No screaming kids. No rubbish. No smoking. Just fellow tombstone ramblers who smile at you as they walk past. Stark reminders of the human condition seem to elicit a response of togetherness amongst people. The threat of finality brings us closer together. While unorthodox Highgate Cemetery is probably a brilliant place to bring a partner (Not first date). The barrage of doom and gloom will mean you hold hands tighter than ever. You’ll almost certainly get laid afterwards.  Surprisingly Highgate manages to provide the sense of liberation and freedom a library of self help books attempt to achieve. Upon vacating there’s a sudden, arguably false, sense of invincibility that you ARE free to leave. You’re not dead. Yet. The harrowing ugly spectre of death mixed with the visibly beauty of angelic masonry and sculpture evokes a mood of triumph and achievement. You think of all the trivial nonsense that bothers you on a daily basis and resolve to get your shit together. Time is precious and whatnot. Just ask the guys buried in the cemetery.

Bringing us closer together

Esteban

 

Being dead serious

WARNING: THIS ARTICLE CONTAINS PICTURES OF DEAD PEOPLE.

Gravedigger can’t be a particularly joyous occupation.  When your place of work is the final resting place of the dead long days at the solemnly quiet office must get lonely. So it’s no surprise that when municipal cemetery worker Celestino Reyna was requested to pose for a photograph with a couple of new buddies he happily obliged. Unfortunately for the Spaniard one of his new acquaintances was a mummified corpse he’d just disinterred. He’s been suspended by the local council.

 “Say Cheese Pedro”

Initially it’s easy to question the level of professionalism on display here. However his actions are not only justifiable they were damn right honourable. Señor Reyna is not a psychopathic grave-robber disturbing the deceased to get some interesting new snaps for his Instagram page. Nor did he just get overwhelmingly bored one slow afternoon and decide to hold a macabre photo-shoot amongst the sarcophagi. He was simply acting in good faith. Let me explain. The guy on the left is Skeletor’s Nephew. The person taking the photo is his niece who had actually ASKED to have the photo staged so she could “show the effects of decomposition to her sister”. Nice. Why she felt the need to use her own dead uncle as a science prop is unexplained. The point is that it would have been a bit of a dick move NOT to have propped up the decomposed remains of a man who died over two decades ago as you’d be refusing the wishes of surviving relatives. Plus it’s highly likely that there was a lot of “oh come on don’t be a spoil sport” heckling going on. Assuming he warned about the dangers of pissing off the dead and you’d expect him to be a leading authority of the wrath one could invoke from the spirit world he did no wrong. The look of unease on his face suggests that he’s fully aware of the celestial eggshells they’re all tiptoeing on although there may also be an element of realisation behind his expression regarding the potential shitload of earthly trouble he’s going to get into for begrudgingly agreeing to this too. The only thing that anyone involved can be criticised for is a stunning level of short-sightedness regarding social media. The two local news reports make it unclear as to which one of the group was responsible for actually spreading the ghoulish photo via Whatsapp but the defence that nobody expected this insanity to go viral displays a remarkable level of ignorance to the morbid curiosity of mankind and the exposure power of smartphones. Of course people were going to spread this Nightmare Before Christmas inspired family portrait. Did they think that it’s common to take nostalgia photos with recently exhumed relatives? That nobody would find it even slightly eerie yet fascinating at the same time? Surely there was a verbal agreement of not telling anyone else about this morbid escapade that nobody seemed to adhere to.

Some may argue that regardless of why the photo was taken it’s still disrespectful. But think about it laterally for a moment. How exactly can one find offence in this?  If you’re religious or spiritual then surely you believe that his soul has long since departed the confines of his temporary biological shell and is living up in the heavens or wherever you believe spirits dwell. What remains is simply the human version of a disused car which served its journey well but has been left to fester in the scrap yard.  Taking a photo of a lifeless body is about as offensive to the departed as taking a photo of a used disposable nappy is to a newborn baby. Or maybe you don’t believe in the divine and think that this life is all we have and when we die that’s it. Finito. In which case you must agree that the dead guy in the photo probably doesn’t really give a hoot because you know… he’s dead. Even if you’re completely delusional and believe that we somehow survive consciously in the body after death then surely it must be nice to get some quality time out of the grave with your relatives. Stretch those stiff old bones and catch some much needed sunlight before they stuff you back in a box. Either way where’s the negative in this story? There’s even something mildly heart-warming about the whole scenario. Look how happy the nephew is. It must be rather satisfying to think that one could still bring such delight to others long after they’ve passed.  It doesn’t even have to specifically be relatives. This story may inspire us of the internet age to specify in our wills that anyone who wishes to use our unresponsive carcass for a new Facebook display picture is welcome to do so. Become immortalised by appearing on a strangers Tumblr page.

Refreshingly local councillor Felipe Aldeguer shares my appreciation for Señor Reyna’s valiant work and reassures that he is likely to keep his job after recognising his “unblemished” record (the only type of record you’d want from someone who works in a cemetery) during seven years of employment.  In the meantime however he’s been suspended from crypt duties having been moved to another council position. He now posts selfies on twitter with cadavers from the local morgue.

With the exception of morticians and mad scientists things that are no longer alive tend to freak people out a bit and the concept of openly parading the deceased may seem downright  nightmarish. However the best way to alleviate a fear is to confront it therefore I have complied the:

TOP FIVE PUBLICLY DISPLAYED CORPSES TO SEE BEFORE YOU DIE 

5. Kim Il Sung

For most political figures being dead would be a major handicap to promoting their ideology. But not Kim Il Sung who manages to fulfil the duties of Eternal President of the Republic despite the fact that he died in 1994. Not even the grim reaper could depose of the North Korean leader who simply had a new job role created once he lacked the ability to talk or breathe anymore. He carries out most of his work from the Kumsusan Palace of the Sun. I think Susan was his wife. You can visit him providing you manage to get into the country, find the palace without getting assassinated and fight past the armed guards. Good Luck.
Unsurprisingly finding pictures of Sung during his quiet phase is basically impossible but you know how the saying goes “like father like son” and it appears that while continuing the family tradition of laying in rest in a giant, expensive mausoleum while your people starve to death Kim Jung Il is much less camera shy.

“I’m so rone-ary. Oh so rone-ary”

4. Mao Zedong

Remaining on the East side is the Chairman Mao Memorial Hall. Unlike his North Korean contemporaries the big M admitted defeat at death and accepted his forced retirement conceding to a relief of his communist duties in 1976. He spends his retirement on display in a glass coffin draped in the flag of his beloved nation looking suspiciously like a model at the Beijing branch of Madame Tussauds. There have long been rumours that the body is actually a wax model. Why not go check it out for yourself and see what you think?

“If he doesn’t do anything interesting soon I’m leaving”

3. Vladimir Lenin

Bringing the tyrannical leader circus closer to Europe is former Premier of the Soviet Union Vladimir Lenin. He was into the whole grim public display of morbid fascination game before it was even cool having died decades before the Asian imitators in 1924. Exhibiting his embalmed body in Red Square wasn’t even the original  idea as Plan A was to cryogenically freeze Vlad and bring him back to life in the future like an autocratic Fry from Futurama.

What happened to Derren Browns’ hair?

2. Simon Sudbury

It’s not just the remains of famous dictators that are kept around as extravagant ornaments.  There are former Archbishop’s of Canterbury too. While others on this list slipped off this mortal coil in a rather dull and peaceful manor Simon Sudbury’s death was pure violent gore, Hollywood style. Dragged to Tower Hill by rebels during the English peasant’s revolt of 1381 his holy head was horrifically hacked off in no less than EIGHT blows using what was assumingly a butter knife. Unfortunately only his terribly mutilated and mummified head remains. The rest of his body must have got left on a train or something but you can still look into the disfigured face of Medieval Britain as the skull is kept in safe in a church aptly located in the Suffolk town of Sudbury.

“Give us a kiss luv”

1. Jeremy Bentham

Showing that you don’t have to be a political or religious dictator to remain in the public eye after death is the progressively liberal philosopher and social reformer Jeremy Bentham.  A dude who supported the abolition of slavery as well as being a proponent of both gay and animal rights. Admirable causes for somebody to support today so it’s utterly remarkable to think that this is a man who lived in the 18^th century. It would appear that he also got a kick out of creeping out students as he requested his body be stuffed and stuck on display in a corridor at University College London.  You don’t even have to leave you own home to see him as there’s an online fully 3D “auto-icon” of Bentham on the UCL website. I have no idea who this is for and what purpose it serves but here’s the link anyway. Enjoy. http://www.ucl.ac.uk/Bentham-Project/who/autoicon/Virtual_Auto_Icon

“check out my wooden TARDIS”

Links to the original news story

http://thisistorrevieja.com/2014/09/14/guardamar-gravedigger-poses-with-corpse/
http://www.roundtownnews.com/index.php?option=com_k2&view=item&id=48609:torrevieja-body-shock&Itemid=237

(I have absolutely no idea why they decided blur out the head in the second link. To prevent the other dead from identifying him then laughing at him maybe?)

Esteban