Category Archives: history

The End is Near–Or is it?

20 Friday Jul 2012

Posted by in Colorado, faith, historical crimes, history, hope, Lilly Gayle, Mayan Calendar, romance author, romance novel, The Wild Rose Press

≈ 20 Comments

Will there ever come a day when we turn on the television or open a newspaper without seeing horrific headlines?

This morning’s news brought tears to my eyes: Gunman kills 12 in Colorado movie theater: http://www.cnn.com/2012/07/20/us/colorado-theater-shooting/index.html

The story is everywhere, as well it should be. People need to hear about such tragedies. They need to know the world isn’t always a beautiful place. They need to be aware. And they need an opportunity to pray for their fellow man.

But are we getting bombarded with tragic news too often? Is it warping our minds, warping our children? Is a constant diet of death and destruction eroding our faith and creating sadistic killers?

Are they Mayan’s right? Are we headed for the inevitable destruction of mankind? Is the Mayan calendar accurate?

Inarguably, there seems to be an increase in violence throughout the world.  Murder and mayhem are everywhere. So much death and tragedy.

Is it any wonder some believe the world is coming to an end on December 12, 2012?

Or is it just the numbers that make it seem as if the world is a more violent place?

In 1350, the world population was only 370 million. By the early 1900’s it had exploded to 2 billion people. Today, there are over 7 billion people living on our planet from 196 different countries.

With more people, comes a greater need for news. Countries are divided and subdivided into smaller cities, towns, and provinces.  Each of those smaller divisions has news outlets in the form of television, newspapers,  radio and the internet.  And each of those outlets is competing for its share of the public audience.

So, is there more violence in the world? Inarguably.  But is that violence disproportionately greater than in the past when compared to the current population?

News-grabbing headlines are nothing new. More people will pick up a paper to read about a tragic event than about a man saving a child from drowning. It’s like a train wreck. We don’t want to know, but we can’t look away. It’s been that way since cavemen painted the news.

Crimes against humanity have been occurring since those caveman days. Per capita, there may not be more crimes, but there are faster and better outlets for spreading tragic news.

In 1807, a London headline read: Murder and Indecent Mutilation of Young Harlot.

Ann Webb had moved to London from the country and found “the streets of Convent Garden are paved with bawds waiting to entice woud-be servants into a life of shame.”

It enticed Ann. She changed her name to Elizabeth Winterflood and accepted “protection” from a carpenter named Thomas Greenway. a cruel, abusive man. When Miss Winterflood attempted to leave him, he tracked her down to her favorite street corner where the two got into a heated argument.  Around 2:00 a.m. Miss Winterflood was found raped and beaten on the sidewalk. Her breasts had been cut off and tossed under a cart.

Mr. Greenway was charged but later acquitted of the crime because the jury was more appalled by Miss Winterflood’s occupation than by the untimely death she’d met.

On December 7, 1811 around midnight, Timothy Marr sent his maid to buy oysters. When she returned home, she found the door bolted. No one answered her knock.  When a watchman helped her break in, they found Mr. Marr beatened to death by a seaman’s maul left on the counter. His throat had also been cut.  His wife, apprentice, and infant child were killed in a similar manner as they slept.  A week later, a landlord and his wife were also viciously attacked and killed.

In 1812, a British Prime Minister was assassinated in the lobby of the House of Commons. And an 1820’s headline read: Conspirators Kill Constable after Bombing Plot. 


A headline story from an 1828 Edinburgh paper read: “The hanging of William Burke in Edinburgh’s Grassmarket two days ago made Christmas merry for the citizenry. When his body was taken to Surgeons’ Square for dissection, there was almost a riot as it seemed the multitudes who wished to see him served like his victims would be unable to gain access.”

For more than a year, William Burke and William Hare had killed 16 people and sold the bodies to the local surgeon’s porter. Hare ran a boarding house and when one of his tenants died of natural causes, he sold her body to the local surgeon for dissection practice. He made so much money that he and Mr. Burke devised a plan where they enticed the poor into Hare’s Inn for food and libations. When the victim was too drunk to stand, Burke suffocated the unsuspecting victim with a pillow. Hare then sold the body to the surgeon’s porter who in turn, delivered the body to the surgeon who believed the victims died after an evening of imbibing too freely of intoxicating spirits.

Despite such a gruesome crime, I doubt anyone in this day and age would recommend hanging and subsequently dissecting the body as appropriate punishment. Then again, we’re more civilized now. That’s one less strike against humanity.

In 1879, a London maid murdered her mistress and put the body in boiling water. After stuffing the boiled corpse into a trunk, she tossed it in the river. She sold the fat as drippings.

The crazed housekeeper was caught after she moved into her mistress’s home and attempted to take over her life.

The past is filled with gruesome tales and horrific crimes. Besides Jack the Ripper and Lizzy Borden, there were the notorious Gangs of New York and Wild West Crimes committed by Billy the Kid and The James and Younger Gangs. Not to mention the atrocities committed in Kansas in the years leading up to the Civil War.

War is hell and there have been wars since there has been man. But now people are committing crimes against strangers and their own children without remorse. Is this the end?

Matthew 24:6- “And ye shall hear of wars and rumors of wars: see that ye be not troubled: for all these things must come to pass, but the end is not yet.”

The end is not yet. Maybe there’s still hope for humanity. I like to think so. I’d like to think there’s still beauty and goodness in the world. I firmly believe there is. I take joy in a baby’s cry and a breath-taking sunset. I wish the media felt the way I do.

I’d love to see more positive, heartwarming stories in the news. I think humanity needs affirmation that all is not lost—that there is still goodness in the world.

If violence begets violence, then why can’t goodness beget goodness? Why must the media concentrate on news of the worst tragedies man can inflict?

Wouldn’t it be nice if Good news was on the front page and every news cast ended with something uplifting or positive?

Would that make a difference? Would it give us hope?

My thoughts and prayers go out to the victims, families, police, and hospital workers dealing with the tragedy that occurred in Colorado last night. May they find peace, comfort, and the faith to hold on.

When did Thanksgiving become a National Holiday?

24 Thursday Nov 2011

Posted by in American history, historical romance, history, Lilly Gayle, Thanksgiving, The Wild Rose Press

≈ 2 Comments


The first Thanksgiving occurred in 1621 when the Pilgrims and Indians broke bread together to give thanks to the creator for a successful harvest. Most Americans are taught that this incident was the first Thanksgiving celebration. In reality, that one meal didn’t lead to a traditional holiday. It wasn’t a national celebration either because the colonies were still part of England at the time. No offense to our English ancestors, but most Brits didn’t much care what happened in the colonies.

As the years passed, however, more people celebrated Thanksgiving and remembered that first meal of Thanks between the Pilgrims and Indians. Still, no one celebrated an official Thanksgiving until America won its independence from England. In 1789, George Washington recommended and assigned Thursday, November 26th as a day to be devoted by the People “to the service of that great and glorious Being, who is the beneficent Author of all the good that was, that is, or that will be…”

Despite the proclamation, Thanksgiving wasn’t a national holiday.

Thanksgiving didn’t become a national holiday until Abraham Lincoln took office prior to the Civil War. In an effort to pull the country together, in 1863, he declared the last Thursday of November Thanksgiving Day. The country gave thanks to those who gave their lives in the Noble cause. And it gave thanks to those who yet survived the war that threatened to divide America.

Since that day in 1863, every president since Lincoln recognized Thanksgiving. But recognizing a holiday doesn’t make it a national holiday.

In 1939, in an effort to extend the Christmas shopping season, President Franklin D. Roosevelt declared the third Thursday in November as a day to  give thanks.  His declaration was met with controversy. Then in 1941 Congress set the national holiday of Thanksgiving on the fourth Thursday of every November.  And it has been a holiday ever since.

It is a day celebrated as the kick off to the Christmas season. A day spent in celebration with friends and family. A day to give thanks to God for his many blessings. And a day to thank the men and women serving in our armed forces for their tireless dedication and sacrifice to this great nation.

So…

Thank you God for all the good in my life. Thank you for my family, my life, my health, and my home. Keep my family safe and healthy. And please watch over the men and women of our military. Hold them in your loving arms. Protect them. And keep them safe until they can return to their families.
Amen.

THE THINGS WE LEARN WRITING HISTORICAL ROMANCE

08 Friday Jul 2011

Posted by in Amber Leigh Williams, books, historical romance, history, love stories, TWRP

≈ 7 Comments

Today, fellow Wild Rose Press author, Amber Leigh Williams is my guest and this is Amber’s blog…

THE THINGS WE LEARN WRITING HISTORICAL ROMANCE….

 When I decided to write a book based in ‘40’s-era Italy, I was shocked by how little information there was on the Verona region of Veneto. World War II was the first highly-photographed, -recorded, and -documented war in history. There was very little to work with in photos, reels, battle sequences, and cultural details from 1944-1945 Italy.

But that was ten years ago. Between then and the final draft of my historical romance Forever Amore, detailed books on the subject were published. I was delighted when I happened to peruse the WWII section of the Military aisle at my local bookstore. On my sixth and final revision of the novel, I used some of the information in these books to add scenes that involved Lucille, the heroine, trying to find Charles, the hero working as a spy, in Nazi-occupied Milan. The new elements not only adrenalized the formerly-lagging middle: it gave the story underlying layers of suspense and intrigue.

Fashion was an important issue to contend with, as it should be in any historical romance. Lucille comes from a wealthy, almost aristocratic, wine-making family and Italy is one of the most fashionable countries in the world so when it came time to dress her, her sisters, and the other members of her family, they had to have the finest, most luxurious wardrobes in period fashion. The problem, however, I discovered was that the story begins in March 1944…a time when rationing was in full effect. Lucky for me, conservative fashion came back with a vengeance after the promiscuous ’20′s and the slinky women’s wear of the ’30′s. This made it easy to add a collar or high neck to all of Lucille’s blouses and gowns in order to hide Charles’s dog-tags, which she wears underneath.

Another important research aspect of Forever Amore was the vineyard sequences. In the original draft, Lucille is giving Charles a tour of Villa Renaldi, her family’s expansive estate. I eventually cut the twenty-five pages spent detailing how grapes are grown and harvested and how winery machinery works (the technology used in the ’40′s-era Italy, that is). Though this information was not necessary for the overall story, it was good to fall back on for reference during seasonal transitions. When spring rolls into summer, the vines are growing taller, easily cloaking Lucille and Charles’s twilight rendezvous in the romantic vine labyrinth.

One of the final subjects I had to cover for this book was military. Like wine, before Forever Amore, I knew nothing about flying or fighter pilots. Movies came in handy here. I spent hours watching films that featured dogfighting just so I could learn fighter-pilot-speak. When I was happy with the terminology, I went looking for Charles’s plane. Thanks to the movie Pearl Harbor, I knew how a B-17 operated. The plane goes on to have significance in Forever Amore along with the WWII-era P-38, which I use in the opening sequence of the book to bring Charles and Lucille together. (Thanks to the Military Channel, I also learned that P-38s were some of the first planes to be steered by yokes, a term I never would’ve known or used otherwise.)

You can learn more about Forever Amore, a Best Book of 2009 nominee, at my website: www.amberleighwilliams.com

Excerpt:

Over the crackle of flames, he heard an engine approaching. Looking up, he went alert and reached for the gun at his belt when he saw the green pickup. He took a deep breath before rallying enough energy to stagger to his feet.

Charles took a step forward and blinked to clear his vision as the truck skidded to a halt and the driver and passenger doors opened.

Two figures swam through the smoky haze and Charles had to squint to make them out. One long, rangy man with a mop of black hair growing into his fierce eyes and … an angel.
His heart thudded. I’m dead. He could find no other explanation for the vision that drifted hesitantly toward him in a long, cream-colored gown and hair the color of angel wings falling in gilded glory down her shoulders.

She made a move toward him, but the man barked at her to halt, catching her by the arm. Pointing at Charles, he gave a short, terse order he couldn’t make out.

Oh, hell. Italian. Charles had less than a rudimentary inkling of the language.

The man who looked no more than twenty barked again. Charles saw him point toward his gun. With a frown, he lifted a hand to it. 

The woman gasped and the man stepped in front of her as if to shield her.

Carefully, Charles unclipped the pistol and threw it at the man’s feet.
Movements slow, the local bent and picked it up, pointing the shaking barrel at Charles’s chest while scanning him closely. “Americano?” he asked.

Now that he could understand. “Si, si. Americano.” He thought he saw relief pass over their faces before his vision dimmed. He swayed on the spot.

As he went to his knees, the woman rushed forward, snatching out of her companion’s grasp to catch Charles before he could hit the dirt again.

She looked even better up close. A pixie’s face more than an angel’s, her big green eyes yawned in concern in front of his. “You are wounded?” she asked in English thick with regional inflection but not at all broken.

Huh. Angels speak English. Thank God.
Amber,
Thanks so much for sharing and for the great excerpt. My daughter and her husband visited Italy last year and saw some of the vineyards. They didn’t go to Milan, but they were in Pizza and Cinca Terra. Italy is a beautiful country and your book sounds like a fantastic read! It’s been a pleasure having you on my blog today.

Welcome Austrailian Historical Author, Margaret Tanner

01 Friday Jul 2011

Posted by in historical romance, history, Margaret Tanner, Slightly Tarnished, The Wild Rose Press, true love, TWRP

≈ 8 Comments

WHY DOES MARGARET TANNER WRITE  AUSTRALIAN HISTORICAL ROMANCE?

Like the heroines in my novels, my forebears left their native shores in sailing ships to forge a new life in the untamed frontiers of colonial Australia. They battled bushfires, hardship and the tyranny of distance in an inhospitable and savage land, where only the tough and resilient would survive. They not only survived but prospered in ways that would not have been possible for them had they stayed in Europe.  

I would like to think I display the same tenacity. My goals are a little different from those of my forbears. I want to succeed in the publishing world.

I received my baptism of fire on the literary field of battle at an early age. I have known the highs (winning awards and having my books published), but also known the lows of the volatile publishing world. Publishing company closures, an opportunity for one of my novels to be turned into a film, only to be thwarted at the last minute by government funding cuts, and writing friends dropping off because they couldn’t get published and gave up the struggle.  

I am a fourth generation Australian. We are a tough, resilient people, and we have fought hard to find our place in the world.   We have beautiful scenery, unique wild life, and a bloodied convict history.

I am a medical audio-typist, specializing in the field of radiology.  I have a husband, three grown up sons and a cute little grand daughter.

I admire heroines who are resourceful, not afraid to fight for her family and the man she loves. I want my readers to be cheering for her, willing her to obtain her goals, to overcome the obstacles put in her way by rugged frontier men who think they only want a wife to beget sons.  A chance for revenge.  To consolidate their fortunes. That love is for fools.  Oh, the victory for the reader when these tough, ruthless men succumb to the heroine’s bravery and beauty, and are prepared to risk all, even their lives to claim her.

Then there are the brave young men who sailed thousands of miles across the sea in World War 1 to fight for mother England, the birth country of their parents and grandparents. I also wanted to write about the wives and sweethearts who often waited in vain for their loved ones to return. Who were there to nurture the returning heroes, heal their broken bodies and tormented souls.

This is why I write historical romance, even if it means trawling through dusty books in the library, haunting every historical site on the internet, badgering elderly relatives, and risking snake-bite by clambering around overgrown cemeteries.

Wild Oats from The Wild Rose Press is an EPICON 2010 Finalist.

http://www.thewildrosepress.com/wild-oats-p-3893.html

 English aristocrat, Phillip Ashfield, comes to Australia to sow some “Wild Oats”.  After seducing Allison Waverley, he decides to marry an heiress to consolidate the family fortunes.  Phillip has made a fatal choice, that will not only ruin his own life, but the repercussions will be felt by the next generation.

To save Allison from the disgrace of having Phillip’s baby out of wedlock, Tommy Calvert, who has always loved Allison, marries her. Mortally wounded on the French battlefields, Tommy is found by Phillip who learns that Allison has borne him a son. He vows to claim the boy when the war is over, because his wife cannot give him an heir.

TWO CONTRASTING SCENES FROM WILD OATS

France 1916.

Captain Phillip Ashfield toasted his elevation to fatherhood, as a barrage of artillery pounded the battle scarred fields around him. No more would he have to feel Isobel’s cold, unresponding body under his as he tried to beget an heir.

 Australia 1914, just prior to Tommy’s embarkation for the war in Europe.

The lights dimmed when the Tango was introduced. Every man in the room held his partner close. This dance had made the Palais Theatre notorious. Evil, depraved and immoral were just a few of the descriptive words printed by the newspapers, but Allison liked it. Neither she nor Tommy could dance, but they soon copied the antics of others, and laughed and clapped as much as anyone.

The tempo of the place quietened when the saxophones in the band started up to accompany the man who sang, “If you were the only girl in the world, and I was the only boy…” They stood close together, listening, until it finished.

“Let’s leave now,” Tommy said, and Allison waited near the door as he went to collect her coat. He helped her into it, took her hand and they left.

Instead of making for the train station, Tommy led her towards the beach. It was a cool night, with dark clouds scudding across the sky, but numerous stars twinkled. A moist, salty breeze blew straight in off the sea, and the sand felt soft beneath her feet.

They didn’t speak, just ambled away from the lighted Palais. Except for the muted sound of the waves silence reigned on the beach, and Allison felt as if they were the last two people left in the world.

Tommy stopped and drew her close. “I love you, Allison.” He started whistling the tune. “If you were the only girl in the world, and I was the only boy,” softly in her ear and she leaned her head against his chest.

A magic spell cast itself over them. She didn’t want to speak, lest the spell be broken. Some instinct from deep within warned her this moment, once it disappeared, would never come again. She closed her eyes to shut out everything except Tommy’s nearness.

                                                                         ******

Margaret Tanner is an award winning multi-published Australian author. Her favorite historical period is the 1st World War, and she has visited the battlefields of Gallipoli, France and Belgium, a truly poignant experience.

Margaret is a member of the Romance Writers of Australia, the Melbourne Romance Writers Group (MRWG) and EPIC. She won the 2007 Author of the Year at AussieAuthors.com. She also won it for a 2nd time in 2010. Wild Oats was an EPICON 2010 Finalist

Margaret’s two publishers are – Whiskey Creek Press and The Wild Rose Press. 

Margaret’s Website: http://www.margarettanner.com/
Thanks for visiting with us today, Margaret. Our countries have much in common. As do we! We both work in radiology. I’m a radiologic technolgist  certified in mammography. But I still take diagnostic x-rays and you type the radiologist’s reports. And, we both write historal romance. Slightly Tarnished released 6/3/11 so I know how excited you are about the release of Wild Oats. Congratulations!

FROM LOINCLOTH TO THONG . . . Not so different are they?

24 Friday Jun 2011

Posted by in historical romance, history, Jennifer Jakes, Lilly Gayle, love stories, romance, romance novel, romance writer, romances

≈ 24 Comments

Today, I’m welcoming guest blogger, Jennifer Jakes who’s going to entertain us with a post on underwear!

Have at it, Jennifer!

FROM LOINCLOTH TO THONG . . . Not so different are they?
So are we moving forward or going back? Let’s take a quick look at the history of what men wear under there!

The first men’s underwear was probably the Loincloth, a simple strip of material or leather. A loincloth was also used to describe material pulled between the legs and fastened like a diaper. Not a good look for anyone 😦 Greek and Roman men reportedly wore loinclothes.


During the Middle Ages, loinclothes were replaced by loose trouser-like pants called Braies. Braies were a step-in design and laced at the waist and mid-calf. Wealthy men also wore chausses.- tights worn over the legs and feet.


By Renaissance, braies became shorter to accommodate longer styles of chausses — and chausses gave way to hose. The hose were two separate legs leaving their genitals uncovered. (Men could wear underdrawers) Hence, the Codpiece came into use. Over time, codpieces became padded to emphasize rather than to conceal, reaching their peak of size and decoration in the 1540s before falling out of use by the 1590s. (Since neither braies nor chausses were meant to be worn beneath they weren’t technically underwear.)

Braies were replaced by cotton, silk or linen drawers which were worn for years and years and years. And years. I couldn’t find much information on how much — if any — the basic design changed. However, in the mid 1800’s mass production of underwear began and people started to buy their drawers instead of making them at home. The Unionsuit also became popular in the mid 1800’s — 1868 actually — and had the drop seat in the back.

In 1874, the Jock Strap came along to provide support for the bicycle jockeys riding upon cobblestone streets.

The first underwear print ad ran in the Saturday Evening Post in 1911, an oil painting, not a picture. That would have been indecent! In WWI soldiers were issued button front shorts though they were often still worn with a union suit. (Which by the way became 2 pieces in 1910 – what we call long-johns).

By 1935 Coopers Inc. sold the world’s first men’s briefs, the design dubbed Jockey since it provided the support once only offered by a jock strap. 30,000 pairs of new Jockeys sold within the first 3 months of introduction. In the 1950’s manufacturers began to make men’s underwear from colored and/or printed material. In the 1970’s and 1980’s advertisers began appealing to the sexual side of selling, foregoing the long time ad practice of comfort and durability. Speaking of comfort – or lack thereof – the thong became popular in the 1990’s.

So, what do you prefer on your man? Boxer, brief, thong . . . loincloth?

Jennifer Jakes western historical, Rafe’s Remption is now available from http://www.wilderroses.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=156&products_id=812

Blurb:
He rode into town to buy supplies, not a woman.

For hunted recluse Rafe McBride, the raven-haired beauty on the auction block is exactly what he doesn’t need. A dependent woman will be another clue his vengeful stepbrother can use to find and kill him. But Rafe’s conscience won’t let him leave another innocent’s virginity to the riff-raff bidding. He buys her, promising to return her to St. Louis untouched. He only prays the impending blizzard holds off before her sultry beauty breaks his willpower.
She wanted freedom, not a lover.

Whisked to the auction block by her devious, gambling cousin, and then sold into the arms of a gorgeous stranger, outspoken artist Maggie Monroe isn’t about to go meekly. Especially when the rugged mountain man looks like sin and danger rolled into one. But a blizzard and temptation thrust them together, and Maggie yearns to explore her smoldering passion for Rafe.

But when the snow clears, will the danger and secrets that surround Rafe and Maggie tear them apart?

Excerpt:
Oh, Lord. He was going to kiss her. She shouldn’t want this. She was confused enough. Respectable women didn’t kiss men they barely knew, certainly not men who made them have wild, exotic dreams.

It was crazy. He was making her want crazy things. Making her not give a damn about her reputation or her virginity. Or her long-awaited freedom. All she could think about was that dream, and the way his sinful mouth had felt. The table was only a step away, and honey was just as sweet as peach juice…

She swallowed hard and looked up into his hooded eyes.

“Maggie,” he groaned. “Don’t be scared. I’d never hurt you.”

Her mouth parted to object, but firm lips covered hers, hungry, demanding. She gasped, shocked at his hunger, but even more at the illicit response coursing through her. An aching heat unfurled low in her stomach, pulsed between her legs. Oh, yes. It started just like in the dream

He deepened the kiss, coaxed her lips with his warm tongue. Long, languid strokes teased the inside of her mouth, encouraging, tempting before he pulled back to nibble the corners of her lips.

Oh, God. Is this what all kisses felt like? Hot, lethargic? Melting her like molasses over warm bread?

“Kiss me, Maggie,” he breathed.

Thanks so much for this fun and fascinating post, Jennifer. And, BTW, I prefer briefs on a man. lol!

Graveyards and Tombstones

17 Friday Sep 2010

Posted by in Beaufort, cemetaries, Fredericksburg, history, Lilly Gayle, NC, Old Burying Ground, OUT OF THE DARKNESS, parnaormal, The Wild Rose Press, vampire romance

≈ 3 Comments

I love history, and the paranormal has always fascinated me. I suppose that’s why I write both paranormal and historical romance. And perhaps, that explains my love of cemeteries. Or maybe I like cemeteries because as I child, I attended a country church with an old cemetery on the grounds.

After Wednesday night services, my siblings, cousins and some of our friends would play hide and seek in the graveyard. Playing the game among the graves never struck us as disrespectful. Just spooky. And fun. And on Sundays we’d often walk through the graves reading the names.

My father’s sister is buried in that graveyard. She died when she was less than three months old. I remember looking at that concrete lamb on top of that tiny grave wondering what her life would have been like had she lived.

Would I have been blessed with more girl cousins? I sure could have used more! But that graveyard wasn’t the only one I visited as a child.

Growing up, my family used to visit Fredericksburg, Virginia quite often. I have family there and my parents used to take us to visit. While there, we’d take side trips to battlefields and grave yards or spend a day at Belvedere Beach. And sometimes, I think I loved the visits to the graveyards and historical sites as much as I enjoyed my time spent on the beach.

My great uncle’s home has a family plot in the front yard. The home now belongs to my cousin and I never visit John without going into the grave yard and taking a look around.

Lucky for me, I married a man who loves history as much as I do. And we often took our children to visit museums and historical sites when they were younger. Neither daughter fears graveyards, but I’m not sure they have the same love of them that I do.

But my love of spooky old graveyards must be a family trait. I recently spent an afternoon with my brother and his family visiting the Old Burying Ground in Beaufort, NC.

The graveyard is on Anne Street next to a church. There are Southern live oak trees that grow inside the cemetery gates. They’re old and gnarled and provide beauty and shade to the peaceful cemetery. Inside those iron gates beneath a canopy of leaves, rest the souls of soldiers from The Revolution to the Civil War. There are also graves of small children. Too many children.

Sadly, the infant mortality rate in the late 1800’s was 20 to 35% and it was probably closer to 40% in the 18th century.

Adults weren’t immune to the higher mortality rates either. A young minster buried in the church grave yard was only twenty-three at the time of his demise.

There is also the grave of a sea captain and a British Naval officer in the Old Burying Ground in Beaufort. The sea captain is buried beneath his cannon.

And the naval officer was buried standing up, forever saluting his monarch.

I spent over an hour in that cemetery with my brother and his family.And when I left, I realized I don’t need a monument commemorating my life when I die. I have family who will remember me and children who will take a part of me with them into the next generation.

Visiting graveyards reminds me that life goes on long after we leave this mortal plane.