Member for
14 years · 8 days
Find a Grave ID



Think of all the joy you'll find when you leave the world behind and bid your cares goodbye. ~Peter Pan

Perhaps they are not stars, but rather openings in heaven where the love of our lost ones pours through and shines down upon us to let us know they are happy. ~Eskimo Proverb

Coimetromania (Ko-metro-MANE-ia): An abnormal attraction and desire to visit cemeteries.

SOURCES: When sending info for inclusion on memorials I have entered, please include your source (where you found it, or how you know it). This is important. If I think the info is questionable, I might not add it, or will note who sent it to me. I decline to perpetuate errata and will NOT post anything from an unreliable source.

TRANSFERS: Family belongs with family! Aside from my own family, and close friends, I do not hoard memorials. Requests for your family and friends will all be considered individually. If I am even remotely related, I will not transfer. I will keep my friends, unless your relationship is significantly closer.

VETERAN MEMORIALS: Use of rank/rating is reserved for those who retire or die while enlisted. Officers and enlisted personnel who resign their rank/rating are prohibited from using them as a part of their name after their service.
Source: The Official Guide to Names, Titles, & Forms of Address

PHOTO SUGGESTIONS: Get in close! A small border of "white space" makes a nice "frame," but filling the photo mostly with the grave marker better serves the objective, especially with flat ground markers. Stand back! Posting a broad shot of the grave, or family plot, can help others with location. Check for reflections! Smooth granite markers act like mirrors and it doesn't look very nice, if your form is visible in the photo. Try shooting from a a bit of an angle. Be aware! It doesn't look very nice, either, if your tennis shoes, kids, dogs, car, etc. end up in the photo. Clean grave markers make for better photos, too. Consider photographing after a good rain shower to minimize having to photograph bird droppings. It seems safe enough, too, to brush off leaves, or grass clippings, with your hand—no use of damaging brushes! Above all, please just do your best to take nice photos, as you would wish for your own family.

Note: If the persons grave has no marker, please at least add a photo of the area where the grave is located.

MY PHOTOS: Those of gravestones and cemeteries, may be used without my permission, EXCEPT on ancestry.com, or any site which requires an exchange of money. There is no need to give me credit and in fact, I would prefer that you don't. However, please do not post one of my original photos to a Find A Grave memorial yourself. Politely make a request and I will gladly add, if appropriate.

CAUSES OF DEATH are a matter of public record. If you are related to an individual who has a cause of death posted in their memorial, and you are disturbed by the posting of that cause, I will remove it, upon polite request.

I sometimes get behind in doing corrections, updates, etc. Your patience is appreciated. Please remember that edits take time, no one is entitled to my time, and demands are wholly unappreciated (please refer to point #2 above). If you can't wait, you may send the edit request to Find A Grave.


In Honor of Our Fallen Brave . . .

The Soldier's Grave, by Pearl Rivers

Tread lightly, 'tis a soldier's grave,
A lonely, mossy mound ;
And yet to hearts like mine and thine It should he holy ground.
Speak softly, let no careless laugh. No idle, thoughtless jest, Escape your lips where sweetly sleeps The hero in his rest.
For him no reveille will beat
When morning beams shall come;
For him, at night, no tattoo rolls it's thunders from the drum.
Tread lightly! for a man bequeathed, Ere laid beneath this sod,
His ashes to his native land, His gallant soul to God.


In Flanders Fields, 1919, by John McCrae

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.


For the Fallen, 1914, by Laurence Binyon

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;
They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England's foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.

Source: The London Times, 1914


Lament, 1918, by Wilfrid Wilson Gibson

We who are left, how shall we look again
Happily on the sun or feel the rain
Without remembering how they who went
Ungrudgingly and spent
Their lives for us loved, too, the sun and rain?

A bird among the rain-wet lilac sings—
But we, how shall we turn to little things
And listen to the birds and winds and streams
Made holy by their dreams,
Nor feel the heart-break in the heart of things?

Breakfast, by Wilfrid Wilson Gibson

We ate our breakfast lying on our backs,
Because the shells were screeching overhead.
I bet a rasher to a loaf of bread
That Hull United would beat Halifax
When Jimmy Stainthorpe played full-back instead
of Billy Bradford. Ginger raised his head
And cursed, and took the bet; and dropt back dead.
We ate our breakfast lying on our backs,
Because the shells were screeching overhead.


Untitled, October, 1968, by Anonymous, aged 17 years

Do you hear the screams of pain?

Must hatred come like rain?

See the streets a bright red,

Take time and count the dead.

Did they care they killed their sons,

When they gave them nothing but guns.

Did they hear the mother's cry,

When been told your child has died?

A child am I never more,

As I marched off to war.

Oh, such hate can it be,

I face a boy who is like me.

I heard a pop that awful sound,

The boy cries then hits the ground.

The lips let out a faint mutter,

As the boy cries for his mother.

Life slips out and he asks,

Why such an evil task?

Yesterday he was so young,

But now what is he with a gun?

He left me with a puzzle,

Then a flash from a muzzle.

As I fell to my knees,

I ask "whom did my dying please?"


Thank you to everyone who sends info and corrections for memorials I have entered. Time does not permit me to thank everyone for each individual contribution, but please know that they are appreciated!

In case I have missed anyone, thank you to the photo volunteers who have fulfilled my requests--much appreciated!

MANY THANKS to those MEMBERS who have entered memorials for members of my family and who have had the kindness to transfer them to me--you're the BEST!

Privately owned cemeteries may regulate the taking of photographs by persons physically within the boundaries of the cemetery property. Please refer to the laws of the relevant state.


Stephen Cantrell 48212706

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