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Heptonstall Churchyard
1 review for Heptonstall Churchyard
Sylvia Plath's grave: Could I be ANYMORE of a nerd Woman Studies major? I think not. My beloved friend Pat, who is a retired English English teacher (not a typo), had never been to Plath's grave. She volunteered to take me on my quest for the ultimate dream I have had since 7th grade when I first got my grubby feminist paws on The Bell Jar: to commune as one with Plath at her final resting place.
To get to Heptonstall was an adventure in itself. We had to travel on many tiny, tiny, unpaved roads, through hillsides with roaming sheep. It was perfectly atmospheric. Pat kept apologizing for the low hanging fog and smatterings of rain that randomly would fly onto the wind shield. I loved every second of it.
Heptonstall itself is the smallest town I have ever been in. I felt like I had fallen into a time warp, ala "Time Bandits." The cobbled, narrow roads, wind and sprawling hillsides added to the effect.
The church yard next to where Sylv is buried looks like a fire struck it. It is burned out, with black, charred graves, and a church falling apart and crumbled. It is perfect for The Crow IV: The Plath Years. If you are a macabre weirdo like me, you will love it. I took about 200 pictures of it (they all look about the same, of course, as soon as I left the scene of the crime, and was showing them to friends back home).
Sylvia's grave actually made me really sad. It was terribly over grown. I mean, come on people, its MOFO SYLVIA PLATH, in my feeble mind one of the greatest feminist writers of the 20th centuries! Once I finally found her grave, the only things on it was a HEMP (!!!! ew!!!!) necklace and a bunch of weeds. I pulled some weeds, "talked" to SP, had some pics taken by her grave, and, well, was kinda bummed. Even the greats are forgotten. =(
