There is something about standing where your ancestors have been. As a child I was wary of graveyards, especially those with human-sized stone chests or with slabs balanced on shadowy bases. After years of foraging for names and dates I am now used to wandering hopefully across roughly cut grass.
The Reverend David Plenderleath (my n times great grandfather whose diary started my quest) lies in Greyfriars Churchyard in Edinburgh. According to the daughter responsible for starting his diary on its journey to me, he was ‘ordained in Ormiston in 1832, transported to Dalkeith 1756, transported to Edinburgh 1765, died 1779’. The more usual term for the movement of ministers of the Church of Scotland from one parish to another is being ‘called’ rather than ‘transported’. No elaborate gravestone but a simple marker for Mr Plenderleath
Unlike the stone for a well-known inhabitant of Edinburgh which is near by
Greyfriars Bobby
Even where I am sure no ancestors are around, I cannot resist a graveyard. Today it was in West Linton where several stones date from a time when the skills of the stone mason were called on not only to record names and dates but also to provide images that remind the living of what end awaits.
Skull, cross-bones and a floating head, and clearly the work of a less skilled craftsman than the one who created the impressive figure below
Memento mori. Tak’ tent o’ time ere time be tint. We who are still living salute you!
History so Far 