NEGLECTED!

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLV, Issue 13701, 18 March 1908, Page 8

NEGLECTED!

SYMONDS-STREET CEMETERY "HOME OF THE FORGOTTEN." A CONKOSION of long, rank grass, littered ■with old hats and lumps of meat, with broken bottles and dirty pieces of paper; straggling brambles twining their insidious way in and out amongst squat oaklings, shrubs, and weeds; ill-kept pathways, overgrown with moss and grass, save where the treading of many feet has kept dear the track; tombstones hidden away beneath the tangled undergrowth; and everywhere the spirit of neglect. And this the burial place of the once honoured and respected dead !

It would pain the casual visitor to the Symonds-street Cemetery to observe the wretched state into which it. has been allowed to fall. The description given above is literally true about a considerable portion of it. Instead of wellcropped grass plots, bisected by neat paths in place of graves that give evidence of having at least occasional attention paid to them, the place is largely a, wilderness—a veritable Home of the Forgotten. Now, when autumn leaves are beginning to fall, these dull-brown, ■withered mementoes of the. dying trees chase each other amongst the tombs, spasmodically spurred on by the breath of vagrant winds. Later—their sportive flutter at an end—they pile themselves in ugly heaps upon some grave, and no one comes to sweep them out of sight. Great, gaunt cats sit ghoul-like on flat tombtops, glaring out of green or yellow eyes at the visitor who happens along. At the least motion which may appear to be. directed antagonistically at them these feline inhabitants of the desolate graveyard spring affrightedly away, taking to the cover which so plentifully surrounds them like wild things of the jungle. It is a difficult matter to bring oneself to believe that here, in this tangled mass of scrub, lie buried many who in life were accounted illustrious. Yet so it is. In a number of cases moss-choked lettering on age-worn headstones conceals, instead of revealing, the names of those who lie beneath them. In numberless instances apologies for fences, with palings missing, or broken down, pretend to enclose the graves of people long since dead, the whole of the enclosures being covered so thickly with impenetrable shrubs and briars that tombstones, if there be any, are not even to be discerned. Overhead the rustling foliage of too thickly planted trees keeps up a constant drone of protest. THE NATION'S DEAD. Where, for instance—the stranger, to Auckland might be supposed to askwhere does Governor Hobson lie entombed? Is it any credit to the powers that be, or to the community at large, that the answer must be what it is? The grave of Governor Hobson, ir the Symonds-street Cemetery, would puzzle the oldest inhabitant to find just now. It is one of those in the immediate vicinity of the new cemetery bridge works, and it is in no lit state for the resting-place of such a man. In the same locality may be seen the grave of Sydney Stephen, one of the first of our Chief Justices, who died hi 1858. There is not much sentiment about his restingplace. A heap of fit tree • branches rests upon his monument, and, at the time the observations of the writer were made, an overturned barrow rested against it. The grave-plot of Major-General George DeanPitt, one time Lieutenant-Governor of the Northern province, is covered with an unchecked growth of grass and weeds. Heroes of the Maori war, and naval heroes too, lie beneath patches of ground whereon no care is apparently bestowed. And similar instances of neglect could be multiplied ad nauseum. Thus do we allow our national esteem for men and women of the past to show itself. A QUESTION OP FEES. A notice board, the post uprooted, and the whole concern leaning tipsily against the railing of a grave fence, is to be seen in one part of the cemetery, and this is the legend that it bears:—"Grave fences cleaned and painted and kept in order yearly." Remarkably few people would have thought it! Tins notice should bo altered to read, " Graves and fencer, permitted to fall into decay daily." That is what is happening. No"doubt it is a ques- • tion of fee?. We' bury our dead and we pay so much for a lew square feet of ground wherein to bury them, and alter that, if we cannot tend the graves ourselves—well, it is nobody's business unless we pay some more. It must necessarily be the case that in time the best mtentioned people in the world are compelpelled, from one reason or another, to give up caring personally for the burial-place ox relatives or friends. Families, too, die out, people move away, or leave the country altogether; and so a growing percentage of the graves becomes dependent year by year upon the care of strangers, in the shape -of caretakers and their employers. The question then arises, whether or not there is a duty incumbent on the powers that betrustees or ' otherwise—to have these graves kept in order. If not. should it not be a matter of pride with us as a community that something should be done? Would it not be better' if our cemetery were taken under municipal or State control and kept in decent order? The thing is pitiable. Lei anybody who cares to, visit the Sy-monds-street graveyard and see what has been described for himself. The wanton neglect displayed is not confined to the modest grave, which only a mound or a wooden board, with two" or three initials upon it, marks. There are tombs with once handsome headstones gradually receding from sight behind a network of weeds and trees.. In the face of this it is something of a mockery to read a notice there which says: "Any person removing shrubs or ferns will be prosecuted." It is a pity somebody did not run the risk and make a clearance of the Hhrubs, etc., now running riot everywhere. Some of the older tablets of wood erected have been broken or have partly rotted away, and there are signs on every hand of the way in which, when some men die, other men forget them. THE SKELETON'S INDICTMENT. In his inimitable way Mark Twain once dealt with the subject under review, in an effort called "A Curious Dream." He says that he dreamed he had a conversation with a skeleton, in the course of which he makes the latter say:"Our posterity appeared to think the world of us. They kept our graves in the very best conditio ; the fences were always in faultless repair, headboards were kept painted or whitewashed, and were replaced with new ones as soon as they began to look rusty or decayed; monuments were kept upright, railings intact and bright, the rosebushes and shrubbery trimmed, trained, and free from blemish, the walks clean and smooth, and gravelled. But that day is gone by. Our descendants have forgotten us. My grandson lives in a stately house, built with money made by these old hands ot mine, and I sleep in a neglected grave with invading vermin that gnaw my shroud to build them nests withal! 1 and friends that lie with me founded and secured the prosperity of this tine city, and the stately bantling of our loves leaves us t*> rot in a dilapidated cemetery, which neighbours curse and strangers scoff at. Our graves are all caved in now; our headboards have rotted away and tumbled down ; our railings re<>l this way and that, with one foot in the air after a fashion of unseemly levity: our monuments lean wearily, and our gravestones how their heads i j discouraged; there be no adornments any j more roses, nor shrubs, nor gravelled walks, nor anything that is a comfort to the eve. ... J tell vou it is disgrace- i ful." ' And the indictment of Mark Twain's skeleton comes home to us in Auckland. 4