An Outing to Die For: The "Graveyard Girls" do Chatham-Kent

 If I spend any more time in cemeteries, I'll become a haunt.

Still, if you're into pioneer graveyards, summer is the season to visit. The warm weather, absence of snow cover, and firm, dry ground make this the ideal time to wander and read the inscriptions. 

So when I was invited by Maggie to join her and friends Ruth and Rosemary to visit five graveyards in rural Chatham-Kent, I was happy to go along. While Ruth was visiting loved ones in two of the cemeteries, the rest of us went along for interest's sake. 

Our first stop was Duart Cemetery in the small village of Duart, Orford Township. This public cemetery was never associated with a particular church. 

Kudos to Rosemary for finding what might be the most interesting monument at Duart, this "white bronze" hollow grave marker erected by the Fleming family. White bronze is a misnomer, as these monuments are actually pure zinc with the grey colour achieved by adding a chemical oxidizing agent. Probably made by the White Bronze Monument Company of St. Thomas, these markers were practically indestructible, free from corrosion and discolouration, moss or lichen growth. Made to imitate stone markers, they were usually obelisks like the one below. The name plates could be removed to be updated, if necessary, and because the removal revealed a hollow space behind, a rumour arose that bootleggers were using them to store liquor.*

So why aren't there more of them? I'm guessing that a) they were expensive, and b) people at the time didn't know how long-lasting they'd be and continued to use the traditional stone. 

The Fleming monument has one of its sections removed, probably to be updated and reinserted. The crown at the top probably does not represent earthly royalty. Instead, it likely refers to the crown of life or glory, promised in scripture for those who endure hardships and remain faithful to Christ.

On this side, a thistle and a corn cob. The thistle represents Scotland, while the corn suggests the deceased was a farmer or harvester. Alternatively, the numerous kernels may represent prosperity, fertility, or rebirth.

On a third side, Lily of the Valley, suggesting innocence, and a rose (for England?)

Finally, a wheatsheaf, a chain and anchor, and a plow. The first may represent a long, fruitful life, while the anchor may indicate steadfast religious hope, and a plow is another agricultural reference. 

As for the village of Duart itself, it was originally called Kilmarnock but was renamed after Duart Castle on the Island of Mull in Scotland. Scottish settlers presumably named the village after the castle, ancestral home of the Maclean clan. Duart post office opened in 1857 and operated well into the twentieth century. But like many rural communities, Duart has seen better days.  While Duart Hall is a going concern, there are few other businesses or public buildings.

This Covenanted Baptist Church, built in 1896, is closed. Not the first church on the site, just the solid brick replacement for an earlier flimsier building. This Baptist sect had Scottish roots, being founded by Dugald Campbell. A small group, they had only five churches in southwestern Ontario in the 1850s.

Duart Presbyterian Church is gone already, having been demolished in 2010. 

Duart Presbyterian is commemorated by this monument in a village parkette. After the church contents were auctioned in the fall of 2010, a stained-glass window was saved by an anonymous donor and restored. This spring, the window was installed at The Gathering Place Community Church in Ridgetown. See here for details. 

Former commercial or industrial building, now a home.

Palmyra Cemetery

Palmyra, once the site of the famous Guyitt House, can scarcely be recognized as a hamlet at this point. However, there was a post office by that name from 1874 until 1918. 

The cemetery at 14048 Talbot Trail (Hwy. 3) has a lot of older graves arranged into cement pads:

One of older monuments shows what appears to be grapes. These might symbolize the blood of Christ, the eucharist and the promise of eternal life ... but might also signify fertility and abundance. The chain around the clasped hands represents John and Maria Barker's unbreakable bond which not even death could sever. 

Rev. Henry Coates, Methodist minister. A weeping willow symbolizes mourning.

Abram Eberle, Deacon of the regular Baptist Church of Orford. According to ancestry.ca he was born in the U.S.A. in 1798 and died at Palmyra in 1851.

A poignant memorial to "Charlie," a son of John Wesley Knight and his wife Elizabeth A. Eberle. The lamb signifies innocence but it's worth remembering that Christ is the "lamb of God," a sacrifice for humanity. The child is now safe with the Good Shepherd. 

The unfortunate Lucy, daughter of John and Jane Scott, was born in 1838 and married Christopher Matthew Smith before dying at the young age of 27 in 1865. Note the name of the stonemason, David R. Riggs, Chatham. According to a Kent County directory, Riggs was still in business on Talbot Street in 1880.

Keyes Cemetery

Across the road from Palmyra is the tiny Keyes family cemetery. These four stones may once have stood farther back on a pioneer farm and have been moved closer to the road. Note the use of the name Lorenzo, an unusual given name more common among Italian and Spanish families. 

Louks Cemetery

Another small family cemetery perched on a hill (or what passes for a hill in flat Chatham-Kent) next to a cornfield at 19119 Kenesserie Road. Second from left we see the old fashioned Christian name "Charity."

After an overly-long lunch at nearby Erieau, the Graveyard Girls visited Botany in Howard Township. Yes, Botany, as in the study of plants. No, I don't know how this lonely part of the former Kent County received its moniker. Cornelius McBrayne operated a post office by this name from 1865 to 1900. Was he honouring a relative sent to Botany Bay in Australia? Or is the name a reference to the dense woods found in pioneer days? If you know, do share.

There are two cemeteries at Botany, Methodist and Presbyterian, across the road from one another. In other words, finding a relative involves knowing which church they attended. There were indeed churches of both denominations in the area. Today, St. John's Botany United Church still holds services at 12377 Botany Line near Kent Bridge. The former Botany Howard Road United Church was demolished in 1998.

Monument at Botany.

On the Presbyterian side of the road, a monument to Edwin & Edna, twin children of Charles and Elizabeth (Chalcroft) Keech, born September 12, 1888, died 25 days later on October 7 (family info from ancestry.ca).

On the Methodist side, an inscription to Rhoda and Bruce McKay, a set of twins born November 11, 1880, and dying July 14, 1881, the children of John C. and Maria McKay. The Graveyard Girls discussed whether this family name is pronounced "McKay" or "McEye" without reaching a conclusion. As for me, I'm wondering whether it was common for twins to die on the same day, as apparently both sets of twins here did. While life expectancy for twins in the nineteenth century was often low, I am wondering if birth complications or a shared infection led to the twins' demise at the same time?

After leaving Botany, the dead-tired Graveyard Girls headed for home. But there will be more cemeteries in my future. I can feel it in my bones.

Three Graveyard Girls - myself, Ruth, and Rosemary - at Duart. Spooky photo in glorious black and white courtesy of Maggie Brannen.

*For more information, see William G. Stewart, Nature Rambles, 2000, pp. 56-62. 

Ruin Porn: The Guyitt House

The old Guyitt house on the Talbot Trail was crumbling for a long time. This 1840s farmhouse on the north side of the road east of Palmyra attracted a lot of attention in its abandoned state. Folks often stopped to take a picture of it. 

Personally, I never did. I always meant to. Too late now. It's gone.

So I have to look online for pictures. Not a problem. So many people stopped to take a photo that it became one of the most photographed homes in Ontario, perhaps in Canada. And the photos were posted online:

Screenshot, June 23, 2023

The Guyitt house during daylight. The Guyitt house at dusk. The Guyitt house in sunshine. The Guyitt house on a cloudy day. The Guyitt house covered in summer foliage. The Guyitt house surrounded by snow. The Guyitt house photoshopped. You get the idea.

Why was such a popular place demolished? 

Last year the municipality of Chatham-Kent received one single complaint from a citizen concerned about the building's condition. Based on that, a building inspector was sent to look. The owner did have a "No Trespassing" sign up and a wire across the laneway. But the inspector deemed the building unsafe. (Duh. It was a shell.) There was concern that the signage wouldn't stop intruders from going in. So this week Chatham-Kent ordered the owner to have it demolished. 

The incident raises a number of questions in my mind. First, whatever happened to personal responsibility? If a prowler insists on exploring an obviously dangerous wreck, and is injured, isn't that his own fault? What part of "No Trespassing" do some people not understand? Why is it up to the municipality to save people from themselves? 

Second, why did a busybody complain about a ruin so many people admired? A recent article states an online petition dedicated to saving the building gathered over 4,000 signatures. Did the mischief maker not see all the people stopping to take photos? Did he or she have a personal grudge against the owner? While obviously beyond repair, the house was in the middle of nowhere and didn't endanger anyone else's property, as it might in the city. What real harm did it do? 

Third, why did people love this ruin? Well, that's easier. 1) It looked haunted and mysterious. 2) Nowadays Ontarians have fewer pioneer homes to photograph. Many have been unsympathetically altered or torn down. 3) People love photographing ruins. In fact, there's a movement in photography called "ruin porn," chronicling the decay of the built environment. 

Fourth, why do people like ruins at all? Anywhere? Wouldn't you think they'd make people uneasy? After all, we, like our buildings, will one day be gone. No matter how much progress we make as a society, we'll end like the Guyitt house. Or Pompeii. Or much of Detroit. Few of us like to be reminded of our own mortality.

These may be the reasons:

* Curiosity. Visitors wonder: Who lived there? Why did they leave? What would they think if they saw their home now? The past is more interesting than the present.

* Nostalgia. Ruins remind people of the "good old days." Old buildings, even in bad shape, remind us of simpler times.  

* Local architectural history. Ruins provide a record of historic building methods, local materials, how earlier inhabitants adapted to their environment. Modern buildings tend to be the same everywhere, all over the world. 

* Tourism. A ruin can be a draw to a certain area. When city dwellers go on Sunday afternoon drives, we like to see things we don't see at home in the boring suburbs. That includes ruins. 

* Aesthetics. Let's face it, there's a strange attractiveness in seeing something made by humans gradually destroyed by the ravages of time and nature. Ruins are romantic. They spark the imagination of artists, photographers, and writers. 

And my last question. I believe the Guyitt house might have attracted a few tourists to the Talbot Trail. There was certainly no other reason to visit Palmyra. (If you blinked, you'd miss it.) So when a place is as obviously admired as the Guyitt house, shouldn't the municipality have a better process in place than destruction after one complaint? 

Abandoned home near London, photographed 2022. How long will this stand?