Here's a lesson for all of you: don't go wandering around taking photos in a cemetery on a Saturday afternoon when you're still vague and vacant from your various indulgences of the night before. That's just what I did one afternoon in November 2005.
It didn't occur to me the security guard driving around Melbourne General Cemetery blipping his horn was alerting visitors to it being closing time. I thought he was just ensuring he didn't run over any old biddies who might not notice him coming. Amused at the potential irony of being run down in a cemetery, I continued on my wanderings, photographing angels.
My Nikon D50 battery had run out, and I'd used up the remaining shots on the black and white roll in my FM3A. So I headed back toward the Lygon Street gates via a friend's father's grave.
On reaching the gate, it came to my attention that it was locked. About that time, I also realised it was actually about 18:00. Daylight savings had only recently started, and my internal clock was out of whack from the previous night's antics. So I hadn't noticed how long I'd been there or how far along the day had progressed.
This was the point at which the proverbial penny dropped. I made my way to the main gates hoping they still had something as old-fashioned as a caretaker. Unfortunately, not after hours...
At this point, amusing as it was, it was also a little disarming. I nosed around the office entrance hoping to find a number to no avail. I then spied the phone number on the information board and rang that.
Strangely enough, it was the number for The Necropolis in Springvale. The recorded message told me all about reflection walls, informed me that my call was valuable and that an operator would be with me shortly. I found it equally strange that there would be a queue of calls for The Necropolis at this time of night. I also wondered if the times read out just after the number connected referred to their office hours, which I was currently calling outside of?
After a couple of minutes, I hung up and tried calling my friend Alie. She wasn't answering her mobile, so I called her home number. She had just gone out, so I explained the situation to her brother, Bill, who had answered my call. We both laughed heartily at my plight. I asked if he could find out the number for the Carlton Police Station and call them to let them know to come down and bail me out. He very kindly did so, and I sat down to wait.
After a little while of quietly laughing to myself and glancing about, I noticed a small sign just in the bottom corner of one of the office windows near the fence. On closer inspection, I saw the 'after-hours gate' number was on it. I quickly called the number. Thankfully, the security guard who had been driving around earlier answered. He seemed a bit annoyed but said he would come back to let me out.
He seemed less peeved when he found me there. He obviously recognised me as the girl who had been photographing an imposing statue earlier. We laughed at my foolishness, and he released me from the cemetery.
As I was walking back towards Lygon Street, Tracey from the police station called. She had been about to drive over with the key they keep in the station, but I informed her I was safe and sound and outside now, and we again laughed at it all.
What a day!
Despite the situation at the end, I'd had a pleasant afternoon just wandering and pausing at one point to relax and talk to Alie when she called me on my mobile.
There's a small church in one part of the cemetery that I circled at one point. Nearby, many varicoloured birds were flitting about. It was a pleasant area. I still don't know if I'm the marrying kind, and I'm definitely not the religious kind. But I remember thinking to myself, "Would it be inappropriate to celebrate the start of a new life with someone in a place devoted to death?"
