Striding the broad avenues, it cheekily occurred to me that this was a Burly-Griffin graveyard. Perhaps a cemetery rather than a graveyard. And what is the difference exactly, your cocked eye-brow says to me? With a puffed up sense of gravitas, I reply that a graveyard is a delightful jumble of concrete and earth, of glass jars and crockery tiles with graven images; whereas a cemetery is a spreadsheet with cells for headstones, rows for walking and columns for bodies. All neatly packaged up with an antiseptic bow to lay to rest the qualms of modernity, I add with a grimace at the pun.
Maybe this is a nice place to spend eternity but not a patch on Pere La Chaise, or Highgate or San Michele Island or even Woodlawn in New York. And it pales into oblivion when compared with the ‘Loch Ard’ graveyard high above Victoria’s Shipwreck Coast.