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18 hours ago
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Not many people can say their happy place is a cemetery, but mine certainly is. I didn’t set out to dig graves for a living – it’s nobody’s childhood dream – but working as a contract gardener for the council in Oxfordshire, I did some work tending cemeteries, and eventually I was offered a job digging graves.
I found it quite daunting at first. I was responsible for digging the plots and being on hand during the funeral service, as well as filling in the grave. It felt like a huge responsibility. I’d recently lost my nan and I’d sit and watch the funerals with a lump in my throat. From the beginning, I treated every grave as though it were for a member of my own family. For the first time, I felt like my job really mattered.
I eventually set up my own business and was asked to take on gravedigging for a natural burial ground called Leedam. It is made up of 40 acres of meadow and woodland. Instead of headstones, we plant trees, so the deceased can return to nature. It’s so peaceful and beautiful in every season. I understand why people want to spend eternity there.
I feel truly lucky that I get to play such an important role at the end of somebody’s life. Sometimes I get to meet the family before a funeral and find out about the person who has died. I like to think of them when I’m digging their final resting place. It sounds cheesy, but I see it as putting them to bed for the last time. Most of the hole has to be dug by machine as the ground is hard, but I jump in and do the finishing touches by hand. I fill the bottom of the grave with freshly cut grass, or a bed of leaves, depending on the season, so it doesn’t look too stark.
I’ve buried more than 1,000 people over the last 20 years. Some funerals are particularly memorable, such as the one for a Star Wars fan who had a troupe of actors dressed as stormtroopers leading his funeral procession. Another time, I helped a woman backfill the grave of her three-year-old son who had died suddenly. I didn’t think she would go through with it. But she told me, “I’ve looked after this little boy for three years; I can’t walk away now.” We talked about her son as we shovelled the dirt together. She’s probably the bravest person I’ve ever met.
I’ve buried a friend, and one day I’ll bury my wonderful mum, too, although hopefully not any time soon. She says she wants to be buried in Leedam so she can keep an eye on me at work once she’s gone. I think about it from time to time, and how it will be devastating, but I’d never let anyone else do it. It’s a job I have to do myself.
Last September, I was named gravedigger of the year at the Good Funeral awards. It’s actually the second time I’ve been awarded the title – the last time in 2014. I shed a little tear on both occasions. It’s so humbling to think you’ve made a difference to people in a job like this. Despite what some may think, the atmosphere at the awards ceremony is quite jovial; people who work in the funeral industry usually have a good sense of humour. We all care deeply about what we do, though, so it can get quite competitive.
When my time comes, I also want to be buried at the ground where I work. It sounds like the ultimate busman’s holiday, but I feel as though I am part of the history of the place, and I like the idea of my body fuelling the growth of a tree. I don’t want anyone to feel obliged to come and tend a concrete slab for me and leave a bunch of flowers wrapped in cellophane.
When I tell people what I do for a living, they often say my job must make me morbid, but I think the opposite is true; I truly appreciate life. I’ve sat through enough funerals to know that plenty of people go to bed and don’t wake up the next day. Our time here is limited. I tell my loved ones that I love them every day, and try to live my life to the fullest. I’ve been bungee jumping and skydiving. The way I see it, we’re only here on this beautiful planet for a short visit, so I’m determined to make the most of it.
As told to Heather Main
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