Last Saturday was All Saints’ Day, followed by All Souls’ Day on Sunday. Here in Poland, these days are a big occasion, with people traveling if necessary to their home towns and villages in order to clean and decorate the graves of their ancestors.
Around here we have what’s called “the old graveyard” in Park Oliwa, across from the church. It’s beautiful and whether decorated or not, it’s one of my favorite places to go.
As an American, I’m used to cemeteries that look like golf courses, all smooth green grass and flat-laid stones. They sort of blend into the background and you might not even realize what they are unless someone told you. But here in Poland the graves are unabashedly huge, elaborate and very, very religious, with angels and crosses and engravings and pictures of Mary and Jesus. Old and new(ish) are side by side. Some have been lovingly tended over the years, others have sunken and the tombstones slightly tilted. All are laden, at this time of year, with bouquets, candles and sometimes with evergreen boughs.
The one-lane road to the graveyard is full of cars and taxis and people walk in clusters around the iron fence of the graveyard through the small gate. Vendors set up just outside the fence to sell candles and plants and matches; it’s nearly impossible to get through the clusters of families.
When the sun goes down at around 5:00 and the candles are lit, the effect is amazing—a strange and unexpectedly sensory experience of remembrance and solemnity paired with the reality of crowds of people talking and pulling candles out of plastic bags and children toddling around and the occasional ring of a mobile phone. Many graves have small benches in front of them, where people can sit and visit or simply rest.
The mood isn’t sad, really, as much as it feels vulnerable: People talk to the graves. They pray. They light candles and arrange the flowers just so.
I usually don’t stay long because it starts to feel a bit like an intrusion. After all, I don’t know anyone here. The graves are those of strangers, but for some reason coming here on All Saints’ Day makes me feel just a bit more included somehow—especially in this part of the world where I am not part of the community. And in the real spirit of the Halloween-All Saints-All Souls time of year, it truly does make one feel as if the barrier between the living and dead is just a bit thinner. And maybe the barrier between the living and the living, too.
Happy Friday.
My family came from Poland. You may very well be visiting one of my long forgotten family members. I would be pleased to have you acknowledge them. Thank you for this post.
Diane, I always wonder the same thing—how many of these graves have descendents that have emigrated? Yet all of them are decorated, and some Polish people tell me they will add a candle or some flowers to graves that seem not to have anyone tending to them. It’s really lovely.