The leaves are turning here. I will get a little autumn, after all!
The cathedral grounds are covered with old grave slabs; you can hardly take a step without tripping over a tussock of that thick, lush British grass or treading on someone's grave. Some slabs are so old that they look like natural rock and you have to take it on faith that there was once writing on them.
At the foot of the cathedral grounds we looked up and discovered the Necropolis nearly on top of us. You see it in pictures, but nothing prepares you for the grandeur of the real thing. We backtracked to the entrance and went up, wending our way through some fabulous weather and the gravestones of the movers and shakers of Victorian Glasgow.
I wish I could have pictures of all the fantastic names of these people. After awhile one began to notice cross-overs: sons and daughters from various tycoon families married into others. These were serious folk! Some inscriptions said things like JAMES BUCHANAN - MERCHANT - GLASGOW // CALCUTTA. It's rather sad that what is left of Glasgow's golden days is the Necropolis, but I will say these families took steps to make sure their legacy lived on in rather impressive stonework.
How does that sound, Dad?
My great delight in cemeteries is, in part, because they are so peaceful. It felt like Sunday to walk through these terraces - crisp, cool air, surrounded by the bodies of the dead waiting (for good or ill) the coming of the Lord. Everywhere I looked inscriptions of the hopeful passages of Scripture proclaiming that the dead in Christ will rise met my eye.
"Could you spend hours here?"
"I don't know about hours. There's time enough for that later."
The typical tourist pose.
WHY. WHY is it unsafe! You can't just leave something like that in a place like this ambiguous!
Wait for it... Now you got it.