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A Shout From The Attic: Necropolis

...Some graves were overwhelmed with flowers and other signs of attention, whilst others were forgotten and long-neglected, as if all that knew the person interred in those desolate spots had also passed, leaving none to care or continue to hold them in memory.

Moved by the awful desolation and neglect of these scenes, we busied ourselves taking flowers from graves where there were many and putting them on graves where there were none...

Ronnie Bray tells of his early attempt to right what he saw as an injustice.

To read more of Ronnie's life story please click on http://www.openwriting.com/archives/a_shout_from_the_attic/

Graveyards attracted and repelled but most of all they attracted. There was something about reading the inscriptions and knowing that all these people had lived and were dead that I found fascinating.

Edgerton Cemetery is a huge place. Before they took the railings away for the war effort, it used to be locked up at dusk.

One day René and I had been preoccupied with that sense of justice and injustice that is obvious to children, but which the growing out of childhood dims and, unfortunately for human groups, forgets. Some graves were overwhelmed with flowers and other signs of attention, whilst others were forgotten and long-neglected, as if all that knew the person interred in those desolate spots had also passed, leaving none to care or continue to hold them in memory.

Moved by the awful desolation and neglect of these scenes, we busied ourselves taking flowers from graves where there were many and putting them on graves where there were none: a necessary redistribution of remembrance (and, incidentally, my introduction to socialism), when we noticed that it had become too late in the day to see the light.

Hurrying to the gates in Cemetery Road, which had not yet fallen to the war effort, we were terrified to find them locked. Being three or four times higher than we were it was not possible even to contemplate climbing them. The spikes at the top did not look friendly. We knocked at the door of the gate lodge and a kindly gentleman came out and opened the gate. He was not even cross which, in our brief experience of adult anger, was unusual for a grown-up.

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