Buried Catawampus

The word “Catawampus” is not a word used frequently. In fact there are several other words having the same meaning that are less frequently used; like.. caliwampus, cankywampus, cattywampus and some even stranger variants like; kittywwampus, catahobbled, cattwampered and cankywampus.

In any event the word does have meanings such as; diagonally, obliquely, askew and is somewhat identical to “ kitty-corner.”

Well, this a story about an catawampus burial event that I witnessed during the early 1940’s.. when I held the ecclesiastical position of “Sexton of Christ Church.”

It was during the days of World War II when most men who would normally be chosen to be the Sexton of Christ Church were all serving in the Armed Forces. I was 15 years old, lived right next door to the church and with the support and backing of my family was deemed adequate to fulfill the role as that of church janitor.

It was during the Spring that I noticed a small weather beaten black Ford pickup truck parked near the dirt road leading into the Christ Church Cemetery. I had seen the truck before knowing it belonged to two Portuguese grave-diggers from Somerset. They had been to our cemetery on a few other grave digging occasions, but even though I was the Sexton, I had no function regarding burial ceremonies in the church cemetery. I was often involved with funeral service if there was one being held at Christ Church.. on one occasion I had tolled the church bell as the casket was being carried inside the church…but other than that, my job was more closely associated with cutting the grass and raking the leaves when necessary.

Now, I don’t want you to think that I took the care and the upkeep of the cemetery too lightly. At that time, in the 1940’s, there were a considerable number of Chace names, the same as mine, on tombstones. Some of the most prominent Chace grave markers were in the most picturesque and carefully preserved plots in the very front of the cemetery..

So, as I made my way around the bases of these mostly granite monuments, and doing so while developing blisters on my hands due to the woefully inadequate pair of scissors used for trimming grass; I became quite familiar with the names of those in the ground below me.

Upon seeing the pickup, and for whatever reason, I decided to walk over to cemetery to see where the new grave was being dug. The grave diggers were quite busy; one using a long handled shovel and other swinging a pick axe.

I said nothing and stood a few feet away.. although I believe there were smiles, and the nodding of heads were exchanged.

I could clearly hear the pick axe hitting on hard rock, a rock known around New England as “pudding rock.” It looked something like pudding having small rocks and seashells fused together and formed during the period of the glaciers.. Pudding rock was everywhere to be found. Abram’s Rock, a famous landmark, not far from the cemetery was a small mountain of pudding rock and just one of many throughout Swansea. My own backyard had small mounds of pudding rock, which had to be avoided when cutting the grass, and one large rock covered with poison ivy was at the end of the yard. Since it was everywhere, there was nothing strange about finding it in the cemetery and obviously the grave diggers had found such a obstacle where they were digging.

I walked over closer to the grave and there was the rock about three feet down, and right in the center of the hole being dug. I knew the grave was not deep enough for a casket, so I wandered away wondering just what the answer to the burial problem would be. The was no dynamite to be had due to the war and a pick axe didn’t not seem to be the answer for making the hole symmetrical..

Later, that evening I returned to the grave. The men had left and there was a green patch of cloth, similar to a rug, covering the grave, held in place by two, two bye four’s. I picked up a two bye four and removed the cloth to look inside. There was indeed a hole in the ground, but right in the middle remained the unmoveable pudding rock. Off to one side of the hole, a space had been expanded that looked like a small cave. The meaning of this unusual design for a grave was quite obvious to me. The casket would be shoved down from the center of the grave to the hole on the left side but there was no was it could be made lay flat...at best it would lay catawampus.

I went home and found the daily newspaper, The Herald News, and looked for the obituary page. There was small article about a man who would be having a funeral service the next day in Somerset, with internment at the Christ Church Cemetery in Swansea Village. The funeral was to be at 11:00 AM.

The next morning, I went out and sat on the stone wall which separated my yard from the church yard. Around noon, a hearse turned into the drive way followed by a shiny black undertaker’s limousine. There were four other automobiles.

The hearse stopped near the Case/Steven’s Tomb and the casket was put onto a gurney and pushed into the cemetery by four of the undertakers.

I then made way to an inconspicuous spot on top of the pudding rock in my back yard overlooking the cemetery. I did not recognize the minister, but I could clearly hear the words of his committal ceremony. Five chairs had been provided and they were occupied by four women and a gentleman, all quite elderly.

The service lasted only a few minutes, and the burial party departed. The undertakers returned to remove whatever held the casket in place and the green carpet, and the casket was lowered into the grave, where it rested on the pudding rock.

Shortly thereafter, the grave-diggers returned and there were four of them. I watched as they placed a couple of straps around the casket, and as this on being done, one grave-digger was busy pounding away with a crow bar on a part of the pudding rock that needed to be removed.

Then the casket was nudged down into the grave, but as expected it did not go easily. There was some pushing and thumping to get it settled. I could clearly see the left side silver looking handle sticking up at about forty-five degrees ..and there the coffin would remain... in a catawampus position.

The memory of this particular burial, and the fact that it was to remain so vivid in my mind’s eye was exacerbated by the fact that my house was right next door to the church. My bedroom, in the back of the house, had one window that faced the cemetery. Laying in bed, I could easily see the Case/Steven’s tomb so the cemetery was the first thing I saw when I woke up in the morning. At night, even though it was pitch dark and I could not see the exact location of the grave, I new it was there and the thought of it and that man laying on his right side crunched up inside that catawampus coffin crossed my mind.

Several weeks later, one day I noticed a truck pull up to the cemetery and I saw two men carry a tombstone into the cemetery. Later, suspecting that it was for the unmarked grave, I went to see what it said.

It was quite plain.. having just his name and the dates of his birth and death on it. But what was so pleasing to me, and I knew it would help to ease my memory of that man’s eternal resting place.. was the fact nowhere had it been added... nor did it say “REST IN PEACE.”