If you’ve been following this blog, you will already know that inevitably our journeys always find me poking around in some timeworn cemetery. They intrigue me, especially the old ones.
Dorothy led us to the cemetery of Aghamore, containing ancient graves as well as the newly passed, including her father’s — Gino’s great uncle.
The cemetery was off the main road, reposing in the middle of a gently sloping field that overlooked vast green pastures dotted with grazing cattle and low stone walls; crumbling remnants of the 13th century Raith castle punctuated a distant hill. The gray sky and steady drizzle added to the mystique of the surroundings.
Again, we were smitten. Moss-clad Celtic crosses in all sizes reached upwards from the chunky ground, some slightly askew, neighbors to polished black granite headstones gleaming with wetness. Green weeds, ever so green, choked some of the older, broken tombstones. Dorothy pointed out her father’s grave and the final resting places of various townsfolk, telling stories of how and why they died — some in tragic car accidents, others from cancer or old-age.
Dorothy filled in the history as we tiptoed up and around the graves, stopping here and there to read names and dates. Pausing before one headstone engraved with several names, she explained it was a memorial to the unbaptized children of Aghamore.