It was one of those misty mornings, an almost eerie silence hanging in the air, when I decided to take a wander around Dean Cemetery. A place of dignity, tranquility, surrounded by an unique beauty, the gates to this fascinating burial ground were opened in 1846 and soon became the most fashionable cemetery in Edinburgh - and one of the most secure. This was of great importance at a time when the memory of resurrectionists such as Burke and Hare was still very much uppermost in people's minds. It was also the first cemetery in the city to be laid out in formal lines. The many monuments that border the pathways are a rich source of the history of Edinburgh, bearing witness to Scottish achievements in peacetime and times of war, at home and abroad. The inscriptions that adorn these memorials read like a roll call of the great and good from Scottish history - politicians, law lords, philosophers, architects, inventors, physicians, artists, academics, they are all here, laid to rest amongst the encyclopaedic tombstones that ensure their memory lives on.
So who lies buried beneath the ancient trees, trees planted over one hundred years ago, now grown to maturity creating the atmosphere of a peaceful garden? David Octavius Hill, the pioneer of early photography, James Nasmyth, inventor of the steam hammer, and architect William H Playfair whose classical work is the defining style of the New Town. Renowned artists Samuel Bough, JD Ferguson and Francis Cadell now reside here, all members of the Colourists, a group of Scottish painters who at the turn of the 20th century set the art world alight. Sir Thomas Bouch was interred here, just one year after the original Tay Bridge suffered its disastrous collapse, a structure he himself had designed. There is a huge red granite obelisk pointing towards the heavens, in remembrance of Andrew Russell, one time editor of The Scotsman. Lieutenant John Irving disappeared in 1849, a young man on the ill-fated Franklin expedition to find the north-west passage. Thirty years later he was buried in the Dean Cemetery. And in a strange twist of fate, a memorial to Robert Anstuther Goodsir stands just a few yards away, the famous arctic explorer who lost his life in 1895 whilst attempting to discover what had happened to Franklin's men. One of the most impressive memorials, somewhat fanciful in my eyes, is that to John Leishman. His tomb is decorated with a bizarre tableau of winged lions, pelicans and rams heads. Weird. And Andrew, Lord Rutherford, lies beneath a huge, red granite pyramid, designed by his neighbour in death, the architect Henry Playfair.
History is built into the very fabric of the Dean Cemetery. It sits on the site of the former Dean Mansion House, and some of its incredible walls formed part of the original estate. But amidst the impressive sarcophagi, obelisks, gravestones and memorials, are those bearing the names of many who have not passed down through history. Their significance to those they left behind, however, is of equal importance, and their right to a lasting memorial of equal value. This remains a working cemetery, the past and the present mingling together under the shadow of the trees, seranaded by birdsong, watched over by the squirrels. Respect for the dead and compassion for the living, the recently bereaved, treasured memories, all come together in a final resting place encompassed in peace and serenity. Whether calm, troubled, or as a result of warfare as in the case of those making the ultimate sacrifice during the British army's Indian and African campaigns along with two World Wars, all are finally united in death, together with nature in the sombre yet wistful beauty that is the Dean Cemetery.
It was one of those misty mornings, an almost eerie silence hanging in the air, when I decided to take a wander around Dean Cemetery. A place of dignity, tranquility, surrounded by an unique beauty, the gates to this fascinating burial ground were opened in 1846 and soon became the most fashionable cemetery in Edinburgh - and one of the most secure. This was of great importance at a time when the memory of resurrectionists such as Burke and Hare was still very much uppermost in people's minds. It was also the first cemetery in the city to be laid out in formal lines. The many monuments that border the pathways are a rich source of the history of Edinburgh, bearing witness to Scottish achievements in peacetime and times of war, at home and abroad. The inscriptions that adorn these memorials read like a roll call of the great and good from Scottish history - politicians, law lords, philosophers, architects, inventors, physicians, artists, academics, they are all here, laid to rest amongst the encyclopaedic tombstones that ensure their memory lives on. 
So who lies buried beneath the ancient trees, trees planted over one hundred years ago, now grown to maturity creating the atmosphere of a peaceful garden? David Octavius Hill, the pioneer of early photography, James Nasmyth, inventor of the steam hammer, and architect William H Playfair whose classical work is the defining style of the New Town. Renowned artists Samuel Bough, JD Ferguson and Francis Cadell now reside here, all members of the Colourists, a group of Scottish painters who at the turn of the 20th century set the art world alight. Sir Thomas Bouch was interred here, just one year after the original Tay Bridge suffered its disastrous collapse, a structure he himself had designed. There is a huge red granite obelisk pointing towards the heavens, in remembrance of Andrew Russell, one time editor of The Scotsman. Lieutenant John Irving disappeared in 1849, a young man on the ill-fated Franklin expedition to find the north-west passage. Thirty years later he was buried in the Dean Cemetery. And in a strange twist of fate, a memorial to Robert Anstuther Goodsir stands just a few yards away, the famous arctic explorer who lost his life in 1895 whilst attempting to discover what had happened to Franklin's men. One of the most impressive memorials, somewhat fanciful in my eyes, is that to John Leishman. His tomb is decorated with a bizarre tableau of winged lions, pelicans and rams heads. Weird. And Andrew, Lord Rutherford, lies beneath a huge, red granite pyramid, designed by his neighbour in death, the architect Henry Playfair.
History is built into the very fabric of the Dean Cemetery. It sits on the site of the former Dean Mansion House, and some of its incredible walls formed part of the original estate. But amidst the impressive sarcophagi, obelisks, gravestones and memorials, are those bearing the names of many who have not passed down through history. Their significance to those they left behind, however, is of equal importance, and their right to a lasting memorial of equal value. This remains a working cemetery, the past and the present mingling together under the shadow of the trees, seranaded by birdsong, watched over by the squirrels. Respect for the dead and compassion for the living, the recently bereaved, treasured memories, all come together in a final resting place encompassed in peace and serenity. Whether calm, troubled, or as a result of warfare as in the case of those making the ultimate sacrifice during the British army's Indian and African campaigns along with two World Wars, all are finally united in death, together with nature in the sombre yet wistful beauty that is the Dean Cemetery. 
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