THE GRAVES OF THE POOR.

Tuapeka Times, Volume VI, Issue 282, 26 June 1873, Page 7

THE GRAVES OF THE POOR.

A week or so since, in the forenoon, and out on the broad highway, I chanced to catch a glimpse of something startling and novel in the way of funeral performance — it was but a passing glimpse, but its impression on me was lasting — a parochial mourning coach of the " composite " order; that is to say, with some contrivance in the nature of a hearse under the driver's seat, partly concealed by the over-, hanging hammercloth, and with the interior of the coachbody proper adapted for the conveyance of mourners following their dead to the grave. This style of funeral carriage is no novelty in these days, and it was not at all surprising that the parish authorities should adopt it for economy j sake ; it was the barbarous extreme to which, in this case, the economy was pushed that made it so remarkable. The coach, which probably was originally designed to hold six, was crammed full. It was a wet, cold, and raw morning; but, no doubt on account of the stifling heat of the literally black hole, the windows of the vehicle were both lowered, and there were to be seen a closely-packed mob of male and female paupers standing up and extending from one door to the other. My first impression was one of amazement that so many inmates of a workhouse should be permitted to "follow" one body, but this was speedily dissipated by a glance at the fore part of the vehicle. Under the hammercloth there was not one coffin, but a hatch. I cannot say how many — several, at all events ; and their raw ends — a parochial coffin is a hideously rude contrivance — were thrust out, exposed to public view. It at once occurred to me that if thisjwas the way in which the pauper dead were conveyed to their last resting-place it might be worth while sometime when I happend to be passing one of the cemeteries towards which the parish "composite" was driving, to step in on the chance of seeing how they were finally disposed of. One morning lately, not thinking of the matter, I walked out as far as Finchely, and then the sight of the cemetery gates reminded me that this was an opportunity not to be lost. There was noteworthy matter before I had crossed the cemetery threshold — a printed notification to the effect that, in accordance with the powers with which they were invested, the parochial authorities of St. Pancras — this it seems is'theSt. Pancras burial place — intended, on and after a certain date, to raise the price of their ground ; that whereas at present the charge for as much space in the clay as would accommodate an adult "of the third class" was 12s. 6d., in' future it would be 155., and that in the case of children who came within the same vulgar and commonplace category, 10s., in place of Bs., would be charged. There were similar notifications as to second and first class interments, while one was addressed to those who could afford for their relatives the luxury of " private " graves ; but for them I felt no concern. It was the third I took interest in. It was alarming to find that even graves had " gone up" in the market — that the poor fellow who had so long fought for his life in these tight times of " advancing" prices should find the same inexorable bugbear threaten him with just oue last tug after he laid in his coffin. To be sure, even the increased sum of fifteen shillings did not seem so very much for a man's burialground. But perhaps this was the pauper rate, the contract price at which the free-handed and liberal Guardians of St. Pancras agreed with the cemetery authorities for providing decent sepulture for their respected pauper dead. It was the grave digger's dinnerhour, and there was no one about to give me any information, so I wandered down the broad paths, flanked on either side with handsome monuments and tombs, palpably of the first class, with here and there a group of more modest ones that possibly might be second class. I thought to I myself, if the third class is but proportionately humble, the St. Pancras people are very fairly dealt by, and a pauper grave is not such a repulsive I thing after all — and this comfortable feeling lasted until I reached the end of the longest path on the ground, where it was brought to a sudden end in a very shocking manner. I had not hitherto came to the " third-class" ground — there it Jay before me. It is a sudden dip off the level, which may, in part, account for its disgraceful oozy and slushy condition. It was impossible at first sight to realise that what I saw was grave-ground. It seemed more likely that I had arrived at the present boundary of the cemetery, and that the wild and ugly waste where the ragged hillocks lay was an 'odd piece that the authorities might one day, when the increased value of the land justified the expense, drain and reclaim, and use for burial purposes. In times when London graveyards flourished much was written, and not undeservedly, about their squalid and indecent condition ; but surely, never one of them was half as bad as this place at Finchely. Its appearance does not give one the least idea of a place ef sepulture. It is nothing better than an extensive dirtheap of hilloeky clay strewed apparently with such out cast rubbish as oue sees on a common that is skirted with wayside hovels. Fractured articles of crockery, finders of rags, oystershells, and old shoe-soles. To be sure,

there are long and narrow holes as well, showing shapeless clay " crownings " in the centro of puddles of water, which have the appearance rather of graves begun and abandoned th.-m the sacred resting-places of the dead. Whichever way one glances somethiug meets the eye that emphatically negatives the supposition that these are graves. As, for instance, within a yard of the public path, and just where the ugly heaps begin, there is a ragged hole several feet in length and breadth, partly filled with water, and with irregular sides, as though the earth had fallen in. Whether it is so, and the landslip has carried down a few of the mounds as well, is left to the imagination. Again, a little way off, and quite in the open, there is what looks like one of these rough-and-ready places of abode such a& members of the Gipsy tribe are in the habit of erecting, and this appears quite in keeping with the surrounding wilderness ; but closer inspection reveals the fact that the said erection is merely " a lean-to " of rough boards, serving as a repository for coffin ropes, of which there is a great heap. So far advanced on the sacred soil, one can no longer have doubt as to the nature of these heaps. They mark human graves one and all of them, and there is presented a spectacle that fills one with pain and pity for the poor souls who have such tender regard for their dear dead, while at the same time it is impossible to avoid a fealing of indignation that those wuo have official control of the St. Pancras " common interment " department should exhibit such an amount of brutal disrespect for monrners as well as mourned. Now you learn the true nature and purpose of what, viewed from a distance, appeared mere crockery rubbish, and other? odds and ends and flinders, that completed the desolate aspect of the great tract of rugged ground. They are grave ornaments, humble tokens of teuderness and affection, planted on the rough heaps of clay by mothers sorrowing for children, children for parents, and sisters for brothers. Here a gallipot, half-sunk by its own weight in the wet eaHh, with the remnants of withered flowers soddening in it, a gardenpot with a few sprigs of " overgreen," a common tea-saucer into which the clay has been washed by the rain, but which, as a closer inspection proves, still contains some little very pale blue flowers of the forget-me-not order ; bits of white stone, marble chips seemingly, crumbs from the handsome monumental slabs of the marble mason, whose yard iY~a little way off in the Finchley-road, and laid out to form the initials of the departed, with here and there a rough attempt at shaping a heart or a cross ; shells of all sizes brought hither for the same purpose, and in one instance — what, I think, was more touching than all — a little square of bleached and weather-stained canvas set in a wooden home-made frame, evidently some little girl's attempt at making a commemorative tablet in " simpler " fashion. What were the words the tearful knitter had worked on the canvas with blue and yellow worsted, could not now be traced from the path, and a nearer approach to it was not to be gained, except by plunging at least ankle-deep in the quagmire that surrounded this grave as every other. Besides these poor little emblems of sorrow for the dead, there were scores of cards such as are sold by funeral stationers, and on which were printed, in ornn mental characters, tombstone " forms," to be filled in according to circumstances, as, "-Sacred to the Beloved Memory of ," and then a ruled line on which to subscribe the name of the mourned one. There are a very large number of these unsubstantial mementos dotting the St. Pancras buryingground, some framed and glazed, some merely stuck fast in the cleft of a stick, and a good many strewing graves to which they do not belong, and soddening in the clayey puddles, blown' down, or kicked down by the careless feet of the gravediggers. Now, too, the mystery of the marvellous abundance of old shoe-soles was solved. They were not shoe-soles at all, though it was not surprising that they should be mistaken for those cast-off scraps of dilapidated leather: they were the tombstones provided for their commonest order of their customers by the cemetery authorities. Except that they were black, they were similar to that class of pottery known as garden tiles, but by no means so elaborate in design — a mere coffin-shaped little slab, in fact, about a foot in length and three or four inches in width, on which was stamped a letter and a number. I have no doubt that originally these guides — by which a dead man's relatives might, a few weeks after his interment, discover his particular graveheap, amidst the bewildering confusion of heaps — were stuck upright in the muddy clay ; but in a season of rain there is no more chance of the clumsy bits of oblong tile remaining upright than of a spoon standing erect in a mess of porridge. Some are all aslant; some are lying on their backs, others on their face ; some are showing but an odd corner oub of the clay in which they have been trod ; some are broken in two, and lying here and there. One may easily imagine the tribulation of a poor soul who has walked all the way from St. Pancras to have just another look

at the mound that marks the narrow becTwhero a wife or a husband is lying when brought to a standstill amongst this mockery of potsherds. Is this the grave, or that, or that? There is no path between that might bo remembered — space is too precious in this paltry fifteen shilling Dart to admit of such a ridiculous waste of ground — no tree or shrub — nothing at all by which the revered ground may be known, except the shabby black tile with the number on it, and that is not in its place, or it is broken ; and there comes a woeful search amongst the surrounding wet clay and puddles to discover the precious bit that bears the number. Numerous, however, as are these fifteen-shilling graves, and^losely packed together all over the place, it is evident that the authorities intend somehow to find room for a vast number more ; or, perhaps, these cheap affairs partake of the nature of other worldly goods " got up" at a low figure, and are not so durable as graves of the expensive kind. At all events, I discovered under an arch — there is no absurd delicacy about these matters [as regards third-ulass customers at Finchley — a very considerable stack of black-number tiles — a thousand or so, I dare say. And something else, too, there was under this same arch, open for any one to inspect, that puzzled me not a little. It was not the great casks and strewed heaps of charcoal — these in such a t place might be expected, though, perhaps, it might be as well to keep them some, what more private — it was the extraordinary number of small and humble tombstones, crosses, and tablets — common things enough ; but inscribed one and all of them, with sentiments of love and pious belief equal in quality to any that appeared on the monuments of the grand first-class — stacked like old bricks from a demolished house against the wall. One can, perhaps, understand very old emblems of sepulchre being so served ; but some of these were almost new, and bore the date of 1870 and 1871. There were dozens on dozens of them, and, as far as T could make out, not one more than six or eight years old. Where did they come from, and why had they been rooted up ? While I was pondering the matter up came a I man with clay on his shoulders of his white smock frock, clay on his cap, and crumbs of it resting in his crisp curly hair, who was able and willing to give an explanation. He was, I think, a sort of a foreman gravedigger, and he opened conversation by civilly asking, " Did I want a party turfed 1 ?" and on my telling him that I had no such desire at present, he apologetically remarked that he though that I was the gent that waslookingfor him witli that view, at the same time handing me a card on which were inscribrd his terms for " turfing," which were half-a-crown in advance, and the same sum per annum. I questioned him respecting the gravestones and crosses. "Oh, I pulled them up," said he ; " there was a order come disallowing them. They belong to the ' thirds, 1 you see, and they was found to interfere." "To interfere with what ?" I asked. " They interfere in general," said he ; " besides, they ain't wanted. There's numbers for the thirds ; that's enough to know 'ein by. Shells and cards and movable things ain't objected to, but things more solid-like interferes in this common ground, where we're always digging and turning over." "It is in this part," I presume, " where the St. Pancras paupers are buried ?" I remarked. "Ob dear, no," returned my obliging informant. "This is no place for a sort as common as them ; they lay over yonder. You'll know 'em when you come to 'em, on account of their not being allowed any numbers'." It was but a little way off, and I followed the path the man indicated, and speedily came to the place. Its general aspect was not more desolate than the fifteen-shilling part — scarcely so much so ; because, in the first place, the grim heaps were not festooned with those poverty-stricken emblems of lasting love and regret, all bleached and tattered and weather-beaten, and, secondly, because the mounds themselves, being of great size — indicative, I presume, of the capacity of the pits beneath to contain several such batches of coffins as I saw that day coming down by the coach — were better able to withstand the action of rain and wind, and were of proper shape ; but, as the gravedigger had informed me, there was not a number on any one of them, nor the least sign by which one might be distinguished from another. Heaven only knows why convicts, when they die and are buried, have a token set on their graves, or marked over against the wall near which they lie, in casp any relative or friend might be curious in the matter ; but a St. Pancras pauper is treated as of less account ; and should a mother, brother, or any one else wish to know the burial-place of a relative who, guilty of the crime of poverty, is beholden to the parish for a grave, no information can be given. "It is somewhere there. Praps this end ; praps t'other ; praps in the middle. What does it matter ?" " Are there many of. the paupers' friends come afterwards to see their graves?" I asked the gravedigger. "They ain't got no friends," said he, as he contentedly struck a match on his clayey spade to light his short pipe, and went on with his work.

On the 10th in3t., Mr. Daniels was elected for Riverton without oppoßitiop.