TAMAR NEWTON AND SPITEFUL GRAVES
MALICE
IN ‘UNDER’LAND
Humans are malicious.Observations on animals have shown animals to be vengeful but not spiteful. The difference?
T
he difference between spite and vengeance is that spite is ill will or hatred toward another, accompanied with the disposition to irritate, annoy, or thwart; a desire to vex or injure; petty malice; grudge; rancour while vengeance is revenge taken for an insult, injury, or other wrong. The graves you are about to read about show true spite and vengefulness so powerful that those interred took their malice into the grave but weren’t happy to end it there. Such is the nature of a truly glorious grievance. You might be dead but you can still harbour and fester a grudge, and more importantly, let this immortal outrage be known to your enemy even after your demise. You somehow think it’s what they would want, such a dull drizzly ending to such an outrageous cruelty and cunningly fought battle to just suddenly expire over a midmorning cocoa on a Wednesday morning when both parties had planned so much
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more. Such enmity can only be applauded. Unless you were someone who just wanted a quiet life and thought their troubles were over with the funeral service of someone who really knew how to hate. Those who died with malice in their heart maybe cannot bear the thought of those who might have driven them to an impromptu grave still gaily residing about their everyday existence. If only there was a way of curtailing the frolics of the alive and despised, despite the slightly unfortunate aspect of mouldering six feet below. These people knew.
Gravestone - St Bartholomew’s Church, Chipping This is a tragic tale, but which also pleasingly includes pubs and ghosts as well as cool clothes, sex, death, malice and a double betrayal. A bit like Eastenders but with more ghosts. HAUNTED MAGAZINE
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izzie Dean was, in the year of her demise in 1835, a pretty, young scullery maid who resided in the Sun Inn in the Lancashire village of Chipping and was known for her bright attire and pleasant nature. Then pretty, sweet young girl meets a cad and a bounder. It is an age-old tale that never ends well. Lovely Lizzie met a local lad, a man of means, he was charming and debonair (no, Lizzie, don’t even go there!) who told her many wonderful things about herself, made her feel special, more than just a wench to light a fire, wash jugs and clean pans. She was born for better things and with him, she felt safe, knew a whole new life was around the corner where maybe she would be the one in control, could wake up to a roaring fire that somebody else had made, hands less dry and cracked, her pretty eyes less tired, proper candles, a proper family. She just knew it. And then it happened! A proposal! Everything was going to be so different
