CHAPTER XVIII
KIRKYARD HUMOUR
“God’s acre” should be about the last place in
the world to which any mind blessed with
an average sense of consistency, not to employ a
stronger term, would turn with deliberate purpose
in search of entertainment of a frivolous and amusing
character. And yet, paradoxical as it may appear,
the most serious of all events, solemn of all ordinances,
and weird of all situations—death, burial, and the
grave—have been the subjects of the most mirth-provoking
puns and jokes; whilst some of the wittiest
and most audaciously sarcastic of epigrammatic compositions
are among those which have been discovered
among the tombs in the silent cities of the dead.
Like the dry and caustic humour of the Scottish
beadles, to which, in essence and order they are
nearly related, humorous and curious epitaphs no
longer prevail amongst us. This is not to be regretted,
for they have yielded to a more decorous, if
perhaps less truthful and enlivening order of things.
The wonder is that they ever obtained favour at
all, here or elsewhere. I say elsewhere, because
eccentricities of the kind under notice have not been
peculiar to the kirkyards of the North. In England
the punning and eccentric epitaph has prevailed to
a greater extent even than in Scotland. Every representative
collection of tombstone literature reveals
this fact. Scotland alone, however, has produced an
abundant crop. So much, indeed, as to form quite a
distinct and interesting department of the humour
of the country. The utter unpreparedness of the
mind for the reception of humour in such a place as
a kirkyard has occasionally, no doubt, helped what
was incongruous to pass for humorous, as from the
sublime to the ridiculous there is but one step; but
the following, which is still “to the fore,” though
more than two hundred years old, and may be seen
and read of all men in the Reid kirkyard, in the
parish of Gairtney, in Annandale, is sufficiently
ludicrous in itself to tickle the risible sensibilities
of any rightly organized person independently of
circumstance or association:—
“I, Jocky Bell o’ Brakenbrow, lyes under this stane,
Five of my awn sons laid it on my wame;
I liv’d aw my deyes, but sturt or strife
Was man o’ my meat, and master o’ my wife;
If you’ve done better in your time than I did in mine,
Take the stane aff my wame, and lay it on thine.”
The same may be said of the next.
Many years ago a strolling musician, of remarkable
appearance, of the name of Abercromby, or
“Crummy,” as he was usually called, was well known
throughout the north of Scotland. He supported
himself and his partner by his penny whistle, with
which he had no difficulty in charming the musical
of any village. He was buried in the churchyard of
Cruden, in Aberdeenshire. He composed his own
epitaph in these words:—
“Here Crummy lies, enclosed in wood,
Full six feet one and better,
When tyrant Death grim o’er him stood,
He faced him like a hatter.
Now lies he low without a boot,
Free from a world of bustle,
And silent now is Crummy’s flute,
And awful dry his whustle.”
The following is copied from a tombstone in the
East Neuk o’ Fife—Crail, I think:—
“Here lies my good and gracious Auntie,
Wham Death has packed in his portmanty,
Threescore and ten years God did gift her,
And here she lies, wha de’il daurs lift her?”
On a tombstone in the old churchyard of Peterhead
there was wont to appear this interrogatory
inscription:—
“Wha lies here?
John Sim, ye needna’ spier.
Hullo, John, is that you?
Ay, ay, but I’m deed noo.”
This is from Haddington kirkyard:—
“Underneath this stone doth lie
As much beauty as could die,
Which while it lived did vigour give
To as much virtue as could live.”
The next is from the same place:—
“Hout, Atropos, hard-hearted Hag,
To cut the sheugh of Jamie Craig;
For had he lived a wheen mae years,
He had been owre tough for all your sheirs;
Now Jamie’s deed, sua man we a’,
And for his sake I’ll say this sa,
In Heiven Jamie be thy saul!”
Mr. Pryse Gordon relates, in his Autobiography,
that a sailor having thought proper to enclose the
parish churchyard of Deskford, near Cullen, in order
to keep it decent, his executor placed a tombstone
over him after death, on which was the following:—
“Hic jacet Joannes Anderson, Aberdoniensis,
Who built this churchyard dyke at his own expenses.”
That suggests another which is like unto it:—
“Here lies the laird o’ Lundie,
Sic transit gloria Mundi.”
The following curious specimen of sepulchral literature
is said to be copied from an old tombstone
which marks the grave of a soldier in the kirkyard of
Dumfries:—
“Here lies Andrew M’Pherson,
Who was a peculiar person;
He stood six foot two
Without his shoe,
And was slew
At Waterloo.”
The following is a copy of an epitaph on an old
tombstone at Logiepert, in the neighbourhood of
Montrose:—
“Here lies the Smith—to wit—Tam Gouk,
His Faither and his Mither,
Wi’ Tam, and Jock, and Joan, and Noll,
And a’ the Gouks thegither.
When on the yird Tam and his wife
Gree’d desprate ill wi’ ither,
But noo, without e’en din or strife,
They tak’ their Nap thegither.”
In Bothwell there appears:—
“Erected by Margaret Scott in memory of her husband,
Robert Stobo, late smith and farrier, Goukthrapple, who
died, May 1834, in the 70th year of his age.
“My sledge and hammer lies declined
My bellows-pipe has lost its wind;
My forge’s extinct; my fire’s decayed;
And in the dust my vice is laid.
My coals is spent; my iron is gone;
My nails are drove; my work is done.”
In Cullen churchyard, in Banffshire, there is this
graphic verse:—
“Here lies interred a man o’ micht,
His name was Malcolm Downie:
He lost his life ae market nicht
By fa’in aff his pownie.
Aged 37 years.”
In the churchyard of Newtyle, Ruthven, Perthshire,
is the following, bearing date 1771:—
“Here lies the body of Robert Small,
Who, when in life, was thick not tall;
But what’s of greater consequence,
He was endowèd with good sense.”
The following sublimely confused inscription will
be found on the headstone, No. 41,242, of the Old
Howff in Dundee:—
“1830.
In memory of James
and another son
and five other friends
Who died in infancy.
Erected by
James Stewart,
spirit merchant, Dundee,
and his spouse
and three other children.”
Here is another Dundee epitaph:—
“J. P. P.,
Provost of Dundee—
Hallelujah,
Hallelujee.”
Again:—
“Here lie the banes o’ Tammy Messer,
Of Tarry woo’ he was a dresser;
He had some fau’ts and mony merits,
And died o’ drinking ardent spirits.”
And again:—
“Here lies old John Hildibrodd
Have mercy on him, good God,
As he would do if he was God,
And Thou wert old John Hildibrodd.”
Marion Scott died at Dunkeld, November 21,
1727, aged 100, and was buried in the Abbey. She
lived in the reigns of James VI., Charles I., Oliver
Cromwell (Commonwealth), Charles II., James II.,
William III., and Mary II., Anne, George I., and
George II. Her tombstone bears this inscription:—
“Stop, passenger, until my life you’ve read;
The living may get knowledge by the dead.
Five times five years I liv’d a virgin life;
Five times five years I was a virtuous wife;
Ten times five years I liv’d a widow chaste
Now, tir’d of this mortal life, I rest.
I, from my cradle to my grave, have seen
Eight mighty kings of Scotland and a queen.
Full twice five years the Commonwealth I saw;
Ten times the subjects rose against the law.
Twice did I see old prelacy pull’d down!
And twice the cloak was humbled by the gown.
An end of Stuart’s race I saw: nay more!
I saw my country sold for English ore.
Such desolations in my time have been;
I have an end of all perfection seen.”
Thomas Tyre, pedlar, died on the 2nd day of
January, 1795, and was buried in the graveyard
of West Kilbride, where his monument, with the
following descriptive lines, may any time be seen.
He was over 72 years of age:—
“Here lye the banes of Thomas Tyre,
Wha lang had drudg’d through dub and mire
In carrying bundles and sic like,
His task performing wi’ small fyke.
To deal his snuff Tam aye was free,
And served his friends for little fee.
His life obscure was naething new,
Yet we must own his faults were few,
Although at Yule he sip’d a drap,
And in the kirk whiles took a nap.
True to his word in every case,
Tam scorned to cheat for lucre base.
Now he is gone to taste the fare,
Which none but honest men will share.”
At Redkirk, in the parish of Gretna, Dumfriesshire,
there was formerly a churchyard, which the sea has
completely swept away. The only vestige of it is a
monumental stone, lying about 150 feet within high
water mark, and which will no doubt be soon sanded
up. The inscription upon it merits preservation:—
“Here lieth I—N. Bell, who died in ye yhere
MDX., and of his age cxxx. years.
Here bluidy Bell, baith skin and bane,
Lies quietly styll aneath this stane;
He was a stark mosstrooper shent
As ever drave a bow on bent.
He brynt ye Lockwood tower and hall,
An’ flang ye lady o’er ye wall;
For whilk ye Johnstone, stout and wyte,
Set Blacketh a’ in low by nyght,
Whyle cryed a voice, as if frae hell,
‘Haste, open ye gates for bluidy Bell.’”
An eccentric character named John So, a native
of Inverkip, bequeathed his property to a friend, on
the condition that he would get engraved on his
tombstone the following epitaph written by himself:—
“Here lies John So,
So so did he so,
So did he live,
So did he die,
So so did he so,
So let him lie.”
This, to be seen on the south wall of Elgin Cathedral,
is repeated in various churchyards throughout
the country:—
“The world is a city full of streets,
And death the mercat that all men meets,
If lyfe were a thing that monie could buy,
The poor could not live, and the rich would not die.”
The next is found near Rob Roy’s grave, in
Balquhidder:—
“Beneath this stane lies Shanet Roy,
Shon Roy’s reputed mother;
In all her life save this Shon Roy
She never had another.
’Tis here or hereabout, they say,
The place no one can tell;
But when she’ll rise at the last day,
She’ll ken the stane hersel’.”
Andrew Sharpe, who practised the arts of the
drawing-master and poet, and enjoyed some reputation
as a flute-player, is thus celebrated in the
churchyard of Kinnoul, Perth:—
“Halt, for a moment,
Passenger, and read—
Here Andrew dozes
In his daisied bed.
Silent his flute,
Torn off its key,
His genius scattered
And the Muse set free.”
This curious example is found in Arbroath:—
“Here lyes Alexander Peter, present treasurer of Arbroath,
who died 12th January, 1630.
Such a Treasurer was not since, nor yet before,
For common work, calsais,
[4] brigs,
[5] and schoir;
[6]Of all others he did excel;
He devised our school and he hung our bell.”
The following lines are said to be in the churchyards
of Stirling, Ordiquhill, Dundee (Old Howff),
Fort Augustus, and Hamilton:—
“Our life is but a winter day
Some only breakfast and away,
Others to dinner stay and are full fed,
The oldest man but sups and goes to bed,
Large is his debt that lingers out the day,
He that goes soonest has the least to pay.”
Close by St. Regulus Tower, St. Andrews, the
ashes of a sea captain and his spouse have anchored
safely in their last haven, which is marked by a
simple tombstone with these words:—
“Here we lie
In horizontal position,
Like a ship laid up
Stript of her mast and riggin’.”
Captain Hill, who rests in the kirkyard of Cleish,
has his virtues thus pithily extolled on the stone
which marks the spot:—
“At anchor now in Death’s dark road,
Rides honest Captain Hill,
Who served his king and feared his God,
With upright heart and will.
In social life sincere and just,
To vice of no kind given;
So that his better part, we trust,
Hath made the Port of Heaven.”
The following quaint inscription, copied from the
Abbey of Melrose, consecrated in 1146, is of much
historical value. From it, it would appear that one
John Murdo superintended most of the ancient
ecclesiastical edifices in Scotland:—
“John Murdo some tym callit was I,
And born in Parysse certainly,
And had in kepying all mason werk
Of Sanctandroys, the hye kyrk
Of Glasgu, Melros, and Paslay,
Of Nyddysdale, and of Galway,
Pray to God, and Mari baith,
And sweet St. John, keep this holy kyrk fra skaith.”
In Forfar cemetery we find:—
“’Tis here that Tibby Allan lies,
’Tis here, or here about,
But no one till the Resurrection day,
Shall the very spot dispute.”
Loch Ranza has this:—
“Here lies Donald and his wife,
Janet M’Fee;
Aged 40 hee,
Aged 30 shee.”
In the Necropolis of Glasgow, which is separated
from the Cathedral and its olden cemetery by the
Molendinar Burn, stands a plain stone with the
grave warning:—
“Stranger, as you pass o’er the grass,
Think seriously, with no humdrumming,
Prepare for death, for judgment’s coming.”
In the same place may be seen:—
“Here lies Mess Andrew Gray,
Of whom ne muckle good can i say
He was ne Quaker, for he had ne spirit;
He was ne Papist, for he had ne merit;
He was ne Turk, for he drank muckle wine;
He was ne Jew, for he eat muckle swine;
Full forty years he preached and leed,
For which God doomed him when he deed.”
The subject of the next epitaph, owing to her
bravery at the battle of Ancrum Moor, is celebrated
in heroic verse still to be seen in a country churchyard
in Roxburghshire:—
“Fair Maiden Lilliard lies under this stane,
Little was her stature, but great was her fame;
Upon the English louns she laid many thumps,
And when her legs were cutted off she fought upon her stumps.”
In the churchyard of Hoddam is found:—
“Here lyes a man, who all his mortal life
Past mending clocks, but could not mend his wyfe,
The ’larum of his bell was ne’er sae shrill
As was her tongue—aye clacking like a mill.
But now he’s gane—oh! whither nane can tell—
I hope beyond the sound o’ Mally’s bell.”
Over the last lair of a Glasgow magistrate there is
written:—
“Here lyes—read it with your hats on—
The bones of Bailie William Watson,
Who was famous for his thinking,
And moderation in his drinking.”
The following has been deciphered from an inscription
on a tombstone in Skye:—
“Here lie the bones
O’ Tonald Jones,
The wale o’ men
For eating scones.
Eating scones
And drinking yill,
Till his last moans
He took his fill.”
In the kirkyard of Horncliffe, on the Tweed, may
be seen:—
“Here lies the Horner of Horncliffe,
Puir Tam Gordon, cauld and stiff,
Wha in this narrow hole was puttin
For his lawless love of wedder mutton.”
There is a neatly expressed compliment to the
memory of a dead wife in these lines, said to be
copied from a gravestone in Meigle:—
“She was—but words are wanting,
To say what.
Think what a wife should be—
She was that.”
The writer of William Mathieson’s epitaph, in
the West Churchyard, Tranent, was not nearly so
happy in his diction. It runs limpingly thus:—
“William Matthison here lies,
Whose age was forty-one;
February seventeenth he dies,
Went Is’bel Mitchell from.
Who was his married wife,
The fourth part of his life.
The soul it cannot die,
Tho’ th’ body be turn’d to clay;
Yet meet again must they
At the last day.
Trumpets shall sound, archangels cry,
Come forth Is’bel Mitchell and meet
William Matthison in the sky.”
Seldom has there been a better excuse for an
epitaph than appears in the following, from the
burial-place of Inchchapel, near Montrose:—
“Janet Milne, spouse to James Lurie, her Monument.
We do this for no other end
But that our Burial may be ken’d.”
These, though the choicest specimens of their
kind, form not more than a tithe of the humorous
and curious epitaphs which are readily accessible
to the writer. But—though we have not laughed
once irreverently—perhaps, my reader, we have
laughed long enough over the “cauld clay biggin’s”
of gloomy Death, where rests in awful solemnity
much that is sainted and sacred to us both. No
more, then.