Postcard from Malaga, Spain: High season for spotlighting cemeteries

In Memory of Julia and William, Twin Children of James and Ann Simpson, Born at Malaga, October 17, 1859. Died. Julia December 3, 1859. William September 6, 1860. No sin. No sorrow. No complaints our pleasure here destroy. We live with God and all his saints….

Body disposal for non-Catholics in Malaga in the 19th century was a problem. Interment of Protestants was not permitted in the existing graveyards. By law, non-Catholics could only be buried during the night on the beach in a non-restful upright position, hardly comforting to relatives left behind to envision them exposed by tidal fluctuations, easy prey for soothing the hunger pangs of dogs on the prowl.

In 1829, the British Consul succeeded in gaining permission for a cemetery for Protestants on land that was then on the outskirts of town – the first Protestant cemetery in all of Spain.

Among its early residents was Robert Boyd, an Irish-American. Boyd came under the influence of Jose Maria Torrijos y Uriarte (1791-1831), and it is no coincidence they died on the same date. Following his exile in England, Torrijos launched a group of 60 liberals from Gibraltar to deliver a manifesto supporting the constitution of 1812 in opposition to the absolute monarchist Ferdinand VII (1784-1833).

The idealists thought they would land to spread the words that would immediately inspire an uprising. Unfortunately, the king’s men were expecting them. Forty-nine men were executed on San Andres Beach of Malaga. Forty-eight of the men regarded as heroes after the unpopular King Ferdinand VII’s death were interred under a landmark obelisk in the middle of Plaza Merced. Boyd, the Protestant, instead was bound for Cementerio Ingles.

Eight crew members of the SMS Gneisenau found permanent harbor there in December 1900. The Bismarck-class corvette of the German Imperial Navy had full sails to supplement its steam engines and bore a battery of 14 15-centimeter guns, all of which were useless when a fierce storm drove the ship into a stone breakwater at Malaga.

The nonprofit operating the English Cemetery struggles to maintain it. Much of the small graveyard is crumbling. It is far from the elevated aristocratic monumental cemeteries Protestant dead luxuriate in elsewhere in Europe.

But I’ll leave you with the words inscribed on my favorite headstone, that of Joseph Bertram Griffin (1920-1968), who died in Torremolinos. We think his wife, three children and little Zizi (a dog?) missed him, but the inscribed double negative made their feelings unclear. Typos carved in stone:

May God have your soul (in French).

Also with the love of your 3 children and your little Zizi which cannot never forget the wonderfull Daddy and for me husband you was.

Rest in peace. You too, Zizi, whatever and wherever you might be.

Postcard from Turin, Italy: Letting the graveyard provide introductions

Carlo Tancredi Falletti (1782-1838), Marquis of Barolo, was mayor of Turin in 1827 when he determined the city needed an elegant new cemetery. At the time, Turin was the capital of the Kingdom of Piedmont-Sardinia.

The Monumental Cemetery of Turin (Cimitero Monumentale di Torino) occupies almost 150 acres of land. And, once again, this taphophile is introducing you to a city via a visit to its residents of yore.

A woman after my own heart, Manuela Vetrano has written a book on this particular cemetery – Torino Silenziosa.

It was 2011 and I was walking through the most ancient part of the Cemetery of Turin, surrounded by magnificent works of art by important names in Italian history. I started wondering why there was no one else but me. Superstition? Fear? I thought it would be nice to let others know about this rich and important place. I started looking for books and documents about the Cemetery and I spent many hours inside it to observe and study tombs and monuments. I collected so much material that it allowed me to open my blog, lead guided tours, and write a book, too. The stories that struck me the most refer to almost unknown personalities.

“The Monumental Cemetery of Turin: Interview with Manuela Vetrano,” Emanuela Borgatta Dunnett, Wall Street Journal, December 1, 2018

Postcard from Genoa, Italy: Hey, don’t knock peanuts

The graceful statue of Caterina Campondonico is among the most popular in the Monumental Cemetery of Staglieno because of how it was secured. Peanuts.

“It’s only peanuts” is an idiom that never made sense in our house. Peanuts meant everything to us. My father, Lawrence Conway Brennan (1918-1988), was deep in peanuts.

Not that we grew up in a peanut patch, but our father was treasurer of the Columbian Peanut Company in Norfolk, Virginia. His engagement in the nerve-wracking gamble of predicting peanut deliverables by the railcar-load, subject to all the possible whims of Mother Nature in several southern states, sent three girls to college.

Campondonico scrimped and saved lire throughout her life to commission Lorenzo Orengo (1838-1909) to sculpt this prime example of Bourgeois Realism art in 1881, prior to her death. She funded the monument, as fine as those of neighboring aristocrats, from a lifetime of sales of doughnuts and nuts on the streets and at fairs in Genoa. She clutches a rosary of hazelnuts and a pair of doughnuts in her hands. The restoration of the statue was completed in 2016 by American Friends of Italian Monumental Sculpture.

“The Peanut Seller” is far from alone in the 82-acre cemetery; she is in the company of more than 2-million other Genovesi. The cemetery opened its gates to welcome its first deceased occupants in 1851, and the majority of its monuments are from the period of the following hundred years.

In addition to Staglieno’s monumental pantheon and marbled halls for the dead, families erected individual house-like or chapel-like mausolea climbing up the surrounding hillsides on narrow “streets,” forming sort of a suburban village overlooking those resting down below.

If this abundance of photos fails to satisfy your taphophilia, you have a severe obsession. As do I. I finally added a separate category on this blog for locating and scrolling down through related posts: Haunting Graveyards.

And, maybe, in memory of Caterina “The Peanut Seller” and Connie, my father aka “Goober,” rethink that dismissive idiom. Perhaps even improve a few sayings. A peanut in the hand is worth two in the ground. A peanut sold can be a penny saved. The road to heaven is paved with peanut hulls.