Sunday 31 July 2011

Ashes to ashes


I was going to mention the ancient Abbot of Waverley Abbey, who was discovered (much to my regret at missing the event) a few weeks before I started work as a mason's labourer for the old Ministry of Works during another summer holiday from college. This post is yet another excuse for me to put up the photo I took of H.I. heading toward the Abbey one overcast, Autumn day, years ago.

Waverley Abbey was the first Cistercian monastery to be founded in England, and - as always - they chose a beautiful spot to place it, in a wide crook of the river Wey, overlooked by densely wooded hills with swathes of rich pastureland around it for the highly lucrative flocks of sheep. The carp lake is still there and is still well stocked with fish, since there are no monks left to eat them after the Dissolution turned the vast abbey into a convenient source of building materials for local, private buildings.

I had already spent many happy hours alone there - wading in the shallow river and pulling out handfuls of medieval, bronze pins from the gravel bottom that were thrown in during some ancient magical rituals - when I was sent to Waverley as part of a small team to carry out some basic repairs to the crumbling, stone walls.

My old foreman told me that he had been there a few weeks before, when a team of archeologists had unearthed a large, lead coffin belonging to a long-dead abbot, and had decided to open it because it was in such good condition. Normally, these coffins collapse and crumple over the 800 years that they are in the acid-rich ground, but this one was perfectly intact.

They all stood around as two of the team went around the lid, prising it away from the main box, and as they broke the seal, a long gasp was heard as air rushed into the 800 year-old vacuum and the lid was lifted away.

They could hardly believe their eyes at what they saw. The abbot lay there wearing a slight smile and looking as if he had died only a few days before. He had longish, dark hair which was brushed away from his forehead and looked recently oiled and glossy. There was feint colour in his cheeks and his robe was richly embroidered. His hands were clasped across his chest and - miraculously - held a small flower which still had it's original colour in all the petals.

Within a few moments - like the final scene in a Hammer Dracula film - the whole thing turned to dust as oxygen attacked, and a few moments after that, they found themselves staring down at a skeleton lying in a thin bed of grey ash. Nobody had thought to take photographs.

20 comments:

  1. I think, perhaps Tom, the archeologists did the poor abbot a favour; releasing his long-trapped body from that prison of a coffin. I know I would rather be dust.
    Wonderful photo.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Fantastic description of the moment of disintegration, Tom.

    But that photograph will always take me to the post when you both despaired of your collective son and his life choices of the day. It is a beautiful picture and your sentiments found me then.

    Anyway, thanks for the reminder that life goes on, despite oxygenation, and burn after reading if you need to. X Sarah

    ReplyDelete
  3. It all turned out ok with our grandson, Sarah - he pulled out of the dive and grew up quickly... so far so good.

    ReplyDelete
  4. That sounds like a horrible macabre ghost story to me Tom - gives me the creeps - glad I wasn't there!

    ReplyDelete
  5. You've almost made me give up my request for cremation. I rather fancy the idea of being dug-up hundreds of years after my demise, and disintegrating to the horror of grave robbers or archaeologists. Where do I get a vacuum filled lead coffin?

    ReplyDelete
  6. one of chaps on our community council
    has the dubious honour of digging his own grave whilst eating a bacon sandwich!
    (its a long story....but centres around his father's coffin being transferred from another parish to be situated in a new family plot here in trelawnyd

    ReplyDelete
  7. ps nice Gothic touch with the shiny hair bit

    ReplyDelete
  8. Sometimes I sit in front of these bloody blogs for so long, fresh air has that effect on me too!

    PS more pics of the hot blonde please...

    ReplyDelete
  9. Unless it was you in a Diana Dors wig...

    ReplyDelete
  10. If you trawl back through many old blogs of mine, Chris, (and preserve yourself from the oxidisation effects of fresh air) you will find pictures of her when she was a hot blonde.

    I must try digging a grave whilst eating a bacon sandwich - I love a challenge.

    ReplyDelete
  11. I'll skip the digging and go straight on to the bacon. Here, let me hold it for you.

    ReplyDelete
  12. Found the picture Tom, great.

    Did H.I do any other modelling assignments other than for 'Health & Efficiency'?

    She is also a very talented artist.

    What's she doing with you?
    hehe...

    ReplyDelete
  13. Oh, you found those old H & E pictures of H.I. Chris? I was in most of them, holding a beach-ball, but - like all the other c***s in those mags - I was airbrushed out.

    ReplyDelete
  14. Shame you didn't make one of your trademark spelling mistakes, and leave out the 'r' in 'brush', John.

    ReplyDelete
  15. I love that photo! I think it's one of my favourites.

    ReplyDelete
  16. tradmak spellin mistaks
    you cheeky cont

    ReplyDelete
  17. Yes, it's one of my favourites too, Moll. That's why I keep posting it up.

    Did you mean 'speeling', John?

    ReplyDelete
  18. No! Really? How wonderfully creepy. Such a shame that no one thought to snap a photo before...POOF!

    ReplyDelete
  19. Don't call me that, Camille - John doesn't like it.

    ReplyDelete