Commentary Since my adolescence I have loved churchyards and cemeteries. I still find entry to them as irresistibly tempting as to bookshops. Cemeteries are a spur to the imagination; they are an education in the tragic dimension of life and hence are a consolation. They instill gratitude and a sense of proportion. They are often beautiful; they are peaceful havens in even the busiest or most frantic of towns or cities. They are reserves of wildlife and, in spring and summer at least, they echo with birdsong. The French writer, André Gide, once said that, when he went to a town that was new to him, he always visited the cemetery, along with the market, the courthouse, and the park. Many people would probably consider this taste of Gide’s to have been morbid; I think they are mistaken. The nineteenth century Scottish writer on the practical aspects of architecture, horticulture, …