August 1, 2010 by jessperriam
One of my earliest memories is of being in a cemetery.
A little macabre, isn’t it?
I remember the hot West Australian sun beating down on my little three year-old head, with my black hair into a bob cut (I was the 1980s Suri Cruise, for real!). I can remember the gritty yellow sand mingling with the sweat in my sandals. I also vividly remember a jade green bag I was holding with a juice box in it.
I also remember complaining.
“When are we going hooooooooome?”
You’d think we were at Fremantle Cemetery for a funeral. Wrong.
Back in ’88 Mum was into family history decades before Who Do You Think You Are? made it cool. By the way, thanks for ruining the surprises should I become legendary enough to warrant being a subject on the show. Convict blood? Check! He got done for armed robbery in 1800-something or other? Check! Story over. Roll credits.
I know family history warranted the trip to Freo Cemetery – I think it was to photograph a great great grandparents grave or something like that.
All I know is that there’s a photo of Little Jess sitting on a gravestone. And it’s not Bon Scott’s (about the only awesome resident of Fremantle Cemetery). Ripped off.
But that early experience is why I don’t find cemeteries creepy. I don’t find them sad. I find them… kind of boring.
I went to Père-Lachaise Cimitière in Paris to see where some of the more interesting people choose to spend eternity.
I caught up with Edith (Piaf – lots of sad middle aged women), Jim (Morrison – interesting cross section, Jim has bad cemetery real estate though) and some guy called Victor. He was cool because instead of a headstone, they made a bronze model of him lying dead. Oh and this Victor Noir chap was a journalist. I hope they immortalise me like that…
It was a nice walk for a Friday morning. Did I mention it was interesting? But every so often, the three year old Suri Cruise doppelganger Jess wanted to crack out an “I’m boooooored!”.