Green burial

Last weekend a friend and I visited a green burial site in Worcestershire, the county in which I spend most of my childhood. At the entrance to the park you pass this little pond full of yellow irises, with buttercups on its banks.










Within the park there is the most incredibly lush meadowland, with a driveway through it, an area for parking, and lots of footpaths to give access to the graves. As it is on rising land there are wonderful views over the Worcestershire countryside beyond, and there are a number of bench seats where one can sit in quiet contemplation.








Some of the graves are tended, some are not, but most have a small plaque at one end. There are no gravestones or monuments, but trees have been planted on some of them.












In addition to the wild flowers among the meadow grasses, there were other beautiful blooms on individual graves which were outstanding.

The feeling of tranquillity was exactly what I was looking for, and what finally did it for me was to hear the cuckoo calling. It is a sound which is so evocative of my childhood, and I seldom hear it where I am living now. I think it would ease the pain of going to know that I was going to lie in that meadowland when I was gone. I left with my mind made up.

Though what my children will think of taking me for a two-hour drive to bury me, I dread to ask! It is worth clicking on the pictures to enlarge them, by the way, to get the detail of the meadow growth.