FIND THE FIRE ON A DARK NIGHT

It’s gloomy outside. Mist is loitering around the streetlights and seeping into the black pavements. Inside, the log fire is flickering warm and the surrounding low tables are festooned with elegant tea sets. Smiles are genuine and plentiful, and the chatter in the room is lively. We’re all strangers, and we’re here to talk about death. 

This is what the Death Café is for. To discuss, ponder, and share thoughts on the ethics, practicalities, logistics, beliefs, emotions, rituals, traditions, histories, memories and choices surrounding death. While there are colourful grey areas and welcomed differences in opinion, one thing is inarguable: that there is a huge difference between talking about death and being morbid.

Bristol’s Death Café is just one small branch of a very special tree that’s growing far and wide. Started around five years ago, the premise is this: organise a neutral space for people to eat, drink, and talk about death. It’s a global, not-for-profit movement that allows people to consume, and not be consumed by mortality.

Emma Edwards, originator of Not Being Morbid – a Bristol collective focused on open discussion around death – is also the facilitator for Bristol’s Death Café. Referring to its growing popularity, she explains: “I've had to start hosting it every two months instead of three…overall response has been very positive!”. Yet despite this increasing readiness to talk about death, Emma acknowledges that in our society, the hushed tones surrounding one of the only things that truly unites us, are still too quiet: “That being said, I think death is still too hidden...it is easier not to talk about death and dying when it is so hidden. Hopefully though this is changing.”

In the spirit of the fabulous Emma, to whom (like many people) death has arrived uninvited and unannounced at the party of her life and distracted some of her most beloved guests, we should embrace her positivity and pragmatism. Imagine if the whole of Bristol was a Death Café. Imagine if we could consider the ethics, practicalities, logistics, beliefs…etc. (see above, the list endless) surrounding death in Bristol. Imagine if every cup of tea, coffee or (let’s be realistic) pint was a catalyst for discussion about what happens when someone shuffles off this beloved mortal coil of ours. 

Tombstones and twitter feeds

There are the obvious places to start, and nowhere better than Arnos Vale, a unique cemetery that’s full of life. Here, alongside the engraved tombstones, statues and poignant messages about lives lived and long-gone, run popular exercise classes ranging from yoga to Pilates via JumpFit lightsabre combat… of course. All of these and more are advertised on the Arnos Vale Twitter feed. Yep, the South West’s first ever crematorium is into social media.

Arnos Vale is still a working cemetery, but it’s so much more too. Its cafe is open daily, and informative signs encourage visitors to explore the beautiful grounds. There is – by all accounts – hustle and bustle. It’s also proving to be a popular location for one of the most auspicious and life affirming acts that we do: marriage. In fact, there were more weddings (29) than burials and internments (25) in 2015. As well as being a wildlife haven, it’s a focal point for our community too. The tombstones aren’t hidden - they help celebrate life…that death is a part of life. Hardly morbid.

As a charity, Arnos Vales was saved from dying itself through the sheer dogged determination of a few Bristolians. CEO Mike Coe explains: “It is a community project and aims to both remember and celebrate life…a regular schedule of events and activities take place through the year, something unique amongst cemeteries both in the UK and internationally.”

Here, Bristol embraces death with practical honesty. In Mike’s words: “Arnos Vale is an example of something that most cities would see as a liability being turned into an asset. This enterprising spirit is at the heart of Bristol.  It was saved from private developers by the collective will of the community something that Bristol has a proud history of achieving.” At Arnos Vale, death is honoured and it’s also seen as a chance for renewal.

Suitable for dancing

This isn’t unique in Bristol. Right in the centre of the city, ensconced in between concrete developments and dour buildings, sits St John’s Church. Built right into the old city walls, the church sits above a 14th century crypt, which can be entered from Nelson-Street-Of-See-No-Evil-fame. Lying peacefully in the crypt is an ancient tomb, believed to be of the one-time sheriff of Bristol Thomas Rowley and his wife. On the side of the tomb are carvings of their six children. Like Arnos Vale, this prestigious burial place is now open for hire – as a rehearsal space, for performances, for functions…it is, according to one online listing ‘suitable for dancing’. This pragmatism has ensured that Rowley is not forgotten - he is still very much a part of Bristol’s rich cultural scene no matter how different it is to medieval times.

When pain becomes paint

Ask people what they associate with Bristol and many will think of graffiti. And scattered among the sculptures, tombs and carved memorandums around Bristol, are also countless street art homages to those who would have appreciated them the most. These tributes shape the much-loved colourscape of our city - our collective aesthetic is affected by empathy and emotion. Stashwell stays in St Werburghs, Neil is still at The Flyer, Matt Hibert (Mibsy) is, well, everywhere. There are too many to mention, and enough to never forget.  

And then there’s the Grim Reaper. The personification of death, the harbinger of doom, the cloaked cadaver, and one of the most sought after pieces of graffiti in the world. Rewind. Thanks to a certain probably-Bristolian graffiti artist, political activist, call-him-what-you-will-ist, a stencilled image of the Grim Reaper is now so coveted it can be found behind glass in the M-Shed. Originally painted on the side of the Thekla, apparently in retaliation to the council removing one of his tags, the reasons Banksy used this subversive image are unclear. The stencil of Death is now a world-famous exhibit.

Sticks and stones

And this leads us nicely on to Bristol’s other prized possessions that pertain to the point of passing. Joining Banksy’s Grim Reaper at the M-Shed is, among many other artefacts, the book of John Horwood.

Who was John Horwood? Why does he have a big old book? And what has it got to do with death? The tome appears beautiful yet not unusual. Dark mahogany in colour, it looks smooth, tactile and inviting. It’s made from John Horwood’s skin. The words Cutis Vera Johannis Horwood (‘The Actual Skin of John Horwood’) on the front make no mistake of this.

Inside are the trial notes of the unfortunate Mr Horwood, who was hanged on 13th April 1821 in front of crowds of onlookers. His crime? Lovelorn and desperate, he threw a stone at the object of his affection, Eliza Balsum, with fatal consequences. The macabre book relaying the murder, trial and surgeon’s notes of his dissection remains, but Horwood has, at least partially, been exonerated. His skeleton was finally buried by relatives in 2011, something that demonstrates a change in our attitudes towards death and burial. The fact the book exists nods to a macabre time when death was more prominent and visceral in the lives of Bristolians. The fact it still exists as an exhibit in the M Shed demonstrates that Bristol is prepared to open a conversation about death.

And nothing could prove this more than ‘death: the human experience’, Bristol Museum’s major winter exhibition. In amidst mourning clothes, a Death’s-head Hawkmoth and a Ghanaian fantasy coffin are artifacts from closer to home. From home itself, in fact. Bristolian funeral postcards from the early 1900s visually depict how death featured in society. A Bristolian will dating back to 1600 unveils what was deemed important to be passed on when someone left this life. There are over 200 items exploring how Bristol and the wider world have approached, and still do approach, death and dying.

From this progressive and touching exhibition we can begin to learn how Bristol used to talk about death, and the dialogue that exists today. Its popularity speaks volumes: The Wildlife Photographer of the Year exhibition (usually the most popular at the museum) attracted 31,000 people throughout its entire run. Death: the human experience has reached over half of that (16,500) in its first month. There were 1,600 visitors in opening weekend alone.

Since records began

Bristol’s collective conversation about death may be relatively new, but it’s thorough. Complementing the museum’s exhibition is a more locally-focused one at The Bristol Record Office. ‘Documenting Death’ scours the city’s archives, and explores how we have responded to death in Bristol since, well…records began. We are showed that our memorials are diverse: the City Stadium for Bristol rugby club (now Bristol Rovers) is dedicated to players killed in First World War, statues honour people from Edward VIII, to Samuel Morley, and Pero’s Bridge in the centre ensures we can never forget our links to the savage slave trade. At this exhibition we can learn that one third of Bristol’s population died of the Black Death, and we were the first major English town to be plagued by it. We can see mourning cards and funeral invoices, a mourning pin containing a lock of hair, and parched and beautiful scrawls detailing the ins and outs of death and dying over the years.

We can learn that how Bristol has considered death has changed dramatically over the years. Previous actions seem crude and hard to understand, including the 1773 petition sent by affluent citizens of St Michaels Hill to move the executions that were carried out there. Because it was too upsetting to be that close to these violent deaths? No, because they were reducing the value of their properties.

A damn fine ratter

Other examples of Bristol’s relationship with death can be even harder to believe – idiosyncratic, even. Funerals and burials usually reflect social status and wealth. With this in mind, let’s think about Redcliffe. In 1950 the Quakers donated their burial ground (which they’d owned for 280 years) to the council for road widening. On the other side of the road, a gravestone for the cat at St Mary Redcliffe Church has remained untouched and in pride of place since 1927. Must have been a damn fine ratter.

The Bridge

There are ways in which our attitudes towards death haven’t shaped the city, but the shape of the city has changed our attitudes towards death. It would be remiss not to mention the Clifton Suspension Bridge, the second most popular suicide spot in England. There have been, apparently, over 500 suicides since the bridge opened in 1864.

Some suicides are high profile, some have slipped quietly away. One is too many though - we don’t need a variety. Efforts are being made to prevent them though, and to an extent, they’re working. Barriers were installed in December 1998 along the side of the bridge. Before then, there were an average of seven suicides a year. And afterwards? Around three a year. There are also plaques advertising the telephone number of the Samaritans, and CCTV cameras have been installed. It’s a significant reduction, but it’s not good enough. There are many bridges and high vantage points in the UK. Why the Suspension Bridge? A question we can’t really answer and hopefully one day we won’t have to.

Not going anywhere

As the Death Café proves, talking about death isn’t morbid, it’s necessary. It’s illuminating: the darkness can shine a light and help us celebrate life. Because death is all around us. It’s on the old gates to the city, and under a saucer in a café. It’s in the silt banks of the Avon, our exhibitions and our art, and the rays of morning light falling on our streets. Death isn’t going anywhere. Neither is Bristol. So visit the Death Café and find the fire on a dark night. Whether you want to find out about advanced care directives, learn how to talk more freely with your family about what happens when you, or they, are gone, or share thoughts on the philosophical aspects of death, it can only be a good thing. As Emma said right at the beginning of the last café in November: “If you laugh you laugh…if you cry, you cry”….the main point is, just do something.

For Georgie. Whose beautiful life taught our hearts to be full and strong. You may not be here anymore, but you’re not gone.