Among all classes of English people there are mixed feelings relating to our churchyards. They are either places of reverence on the one hand, or superstition on the other. The sacred plot surrounding the old Parish Church carries with it such a host of memories and associations, that to the learned and thoughtful it has always been God’s Acre, hallowed with a tender hush of silent contemplation of the many sad rifts and partings among us. We almost vie with each other in proclaiming that deep reverence for this one sacred spot, so dear to our family life, and affections, by those mementos of love which we raise over the resting-places of our lost ones gone before. This is strangely apparent in the stately monument, where the carver’s art declares the virtues of the dead, either by sculptured figure, or verse engraven, as well as in the ofttimes more pathetic, and perhaps more beautiful, tribute of the floral cross or wreath culled by loving hands, and borne in silence, by our poorer brethren, as [p 207] the only offering, or tribute, their slender means allows them to make. Be sure of this one fact, that our English Churchyards are better kept—more worthy of the name of God’s Acre than in the times past, for what is a more beautiful sight, than to see the kneeling children around the garden grave of a parent, or a child companion, adorning the little mound with flowers for the Eastertide festival. Here we have a living illustration of the truth of the concluding words of our Great Creed: “I look for the Resurrection of the Dead and the Life of the World to come.”
On the other hand, to the ignorant, and unlearned in these things, the Churchyard often becomes a place of dread, and it may be, some of the strange behaviour sometimes seen there arises from this inner feeling of awe, which in their ignorant superstition they are wont to carry off in the spirit of daring bravado.
From a close study of the subject, I am led to conclude that the common unchristian idea, that the churchyard is ‘haunted,’ whatever that may mean to a weak or ignorant person, has much to do with it. The evil report, once circulated, will be handed on to generations yet [p 208] unborn, until the simple origin, which at first might have been easily explained, becomes clouded in mystery as time goes on, and the deep rooted feeling of horror spreads around us, until even the more strong-minded among us, feel at times, somewhat doubtful as to whether there may not be some truth where the popular testimony is so strong.
In country districts, more than in towns, superstition is rife with regard to our Churchyards. The variety and form of this superstition is well nigh ‘Legion,’ and though many of my readers may enjoy an Ingoldsby experience when read in a well-lighted room, surrounded by smiling companions, few of them, after such an experience would care to pay a visit alone to some neighbouring churchyard, renowned for its tale of ghostly appearances. This will, I think enable me to show that by far the larger number of churchyard superstitions are purely chimerous fancies of the brain, and do not owe their origin, or existence, to any other source, be that source a wilful fraud, or imposition, designed to produce fear, or merely the imaginative delusion of some overstrained, or weak brain, which called first it into existence.
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Yet there are prevalent ideas or notions, about the churchyard and its sleepers, as deep-rooted as any wild superstition, and perhaps as difficult to solve, or to trace to any rational source. I would here mention one of the most strange, and probably one of the most prejudiced notions to be met with relating to burial in the churchyard. I refer to the East Anglian prejudice of being buried on the north side of the church. That this prejudice is a strong one, among the country people in certain parts of England, is proved by the scarcity of graves, nay, in many instances the total absence of graves, on the north side of our churches.
Some seventeen years ago, shortly after taking charge of a parish in Norfolk, I was called upon to select a suitable spot for the burial of a poor man, who had been killed by an accident. After several places had been suggested by me to the sexton, who claimed for them either a family right, or some similar objection; I noticed for the first time, that there were no graves upon the north side of the church, and I, in my innocence, suggested that there would be plenty of space there; whereupon my companion’s face at once assumed the most serious expression, and I [p 210] immediately saw that fear had taken hold of his mind, as he answered with a somewhat shaky voice, “No, Sir! No, that cannot be!” My curiosity was immediately aroused, and I sought for an explanation, which I found not from my good and loyal friend, who would not trust himself to answer further than “No, Sir! No, that cannot be!” The sexton’s manner puzzled me greatly, for the man was an upright, straightforward, open-hearted, servant of the Church—but I at once saw that it would be fruitless to push the matter further with him, so after marking out a suitable resting place for the poor unfortunate man, who not being a parishoner of long standing, had no family burial place awaiting him, I made my way home to think over the whole occurrence.
The cause for non-burial on the north side of the Church was indeed a mystery, yet that my parishoners had some valid reason for not being laid to rest there, was apparent; so I set about the task of unravelling the superstition, if so it may be called.
My library shelves seemed to be the most natural place of research, but here after consultation with several volumes of Archæology, Ecclesiology, [p 211] and Folk Lore, I could find nothing bearing upon the subject, beyond that in certain instances relating to Churchyard Parishes on the sea-coast, the north side by reason of its exposure to wind and storm, and being the sunless quarter of the burying ground, was less used than other parts; but here the reason given was in consideration of the living mourners at the time of the interment, and not the body sleeping in its last resting place of earth.
After some considerable correspondence with friends likely to be interested in such a matter, I was rewarded with information that, in some instances, the northern portion of the churchyard was left unconsecrated, and only thus occasionally used for the burial of suicides, vagrants, highwaymen (after the four cross road graves had been discontinued
), or for nondescripts and unbaptised persons, for whom no religious service was considered necessary. Even this I did not accept as a solution of my problem. That there was something more than local feeling underlying this superstition, I was certain, but how to get to the root of the subject perplexed me.