My genealogical interests lead me into many cemeteries, new and old.
I am always distressed to find graves which have been forgotten. Broken, stained and covered in the detritus of even a well-maintained graveyard.
John Fouracre, who died a hundred years ago, was not one of my ancestors, although I know of several of his descendants. I wonder if any of those descendants is interested in their family history. Or if it will be another generation or two before that curiousity strikes a Fouracre. Will there still be a gravestone to find?
All I can do is pass by, and in passing, spare a thought for one of the men who helped, in a small way, to shape a part of the country in which I live. Ann Fouracre who had children, kept house and helped civilise the land, died twenty seven years earlier. A daughter died in the same year as her father. Perhaps there was an unremarked epidemic of some now-not-fatal disease.
For now they are remembered only by a dirty and neglected memorial.