Radnor Cemetery Lynch Gate.
Built in 1910 the lynch gate was designed by local architect, William Robert Powell to commemorate early settlers of Radnor who emigrated from Wales.
As a little girl I couldn't wait until I was old enough to walk to the cemetery by myself. I would accompany my mother as she brought water to the flowers planted on the graves of my great grandparents and a brother who died shortly after birth. It was from the hilltop that my mother would play taps for graveside services and Memorial Day celebrations. I always loved this place. It did not feel scary or foreboding, rather magically filled with stories of those buried within.
As a fourteen year old playing tag, zig zagging between the stones I fell to the ground when tackled by an older boy and received my first kiss in Radnor Cemetery. He was the curly headed, bronze bodied, bare footed, motorcycle riding bad boy who had more than caught my attention, and I, was twitterpated! (You will have to remember your Disney movies to figure that on out.) Not having lived in Radnor since 1980, I always visit my cemetery when I return to Radnor to see family. Over the years it has been a place of contemplation and day dreams. Reading the names and testimonies of love inscribed on the stones gives way not only to memories but the imagination. I have always loved this place.
On Tuesday morning my mother told me to meet them in the cemetery. I followed their car to one of the newer sections sparsely populated with only a few stones and one fresh grave piled with flowers from the funeral. People in Radnor still have visiting hours at the funeral home where mourners view the body and share condolences with the family of the deceased which is followed by a funeral often with open casket present. In the midst of the open grassy space were four wooden stakes with twine strung between them to mark off a four grave plot. We were here to buy the family plot. It might have been nice if someone had warned me! But in true Hamilton style, I helped evaluate the location and took it all in stride. Remember, no tears in the ranks!
Later I laughed with my brother at the surprise and the kinds comments that were made as we evaluated the location. Who owned the adjacent plots? You surely wouldn't want to be resting for eternity next door to the wrong people. And what about views? Do you want to face the road or the rest of the cemetery? Is it proper to walk on graves? What about planting flowers or shrubs and maybe one of those eternal flames? You don't want it to be too dark at night. It is hard to tell what is funny and what is sad. When in doubt, I choose funny.
I will always love this place!
Thanks so much for bringing back my own cemetery memories! As a child I lived at the foot of a hill that is home to Rose Hills Cemetery. I recall hours spent with friends and siblings as we rolled down those steep hills! We had to choose our rolling spot very carefully. It couldn't have floral displays left by recent funerals or granite monuments. Zoom! Zoom! Now when I visit that cemetery it is to bury a loved one. It has become an unspoke tradition among my extended family that we bury our dead there. When I attend graveside services I am reminded of those days not too long ago when there were no tears but shrieks of laughter. It is now impossible for me to go into the cemetery without being reminded of the cycle of life, being taken from my own childhood to the grief common to middle age and finally to a reminder of my own mortality.
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