'Tombstone Tourists' Keep Australia's Oldest Surviving European Cemetery Alive

In the heart of Parramatta, nestled between modern apartment blocks and bustling escape rooms, lies a historical treasure often overlooked: St. John's Cemetery, Australia's oldest surviving European burial ground. This site, established in 1790 by convicts, is more than just a collection of graves; it's a tangible link to the harsh realities of early colonial life. Historian Judith Dunn, a passionate 'tombstone tourist,' embodies the spirit of preservation, finding stories of resilience and intrigue even among the weathered headstones.

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I don't know how she got that big headstone — she was only here for six years as a convict. I think she must have had a sugar daddy.

Dunn and a dedicated group of volunteers, or 'taphophiles,' are committed to keeping this historic cemetery alive. Their work, however, challenges conventional notions of cemetery maintenance. Far from the manicured lawns of modern burial sites, they embrace a more natural aesthetic, allowing the native grasses to grow tall, as they would have centuries ago. As Dunn aptly puts it, "an old cemetery shouldn't look like the top of a billiard table." This approach honors the historical context, recognizing that these graves were not tended with modern lawnmowers but were often scythed, leaving the grass long and wild.

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Sometimes people are shocked when they go into the cemetery and they see long grass. But an old cemetery shouldn't look like the top of a billiard table. They weren't cut by a lawnmower, they were scythed. The grass could be six inches long or even longer.

The significance of St. John's extends beyond its age. It served as a vital necessity for the early colony, where convicts toiled to grow food. The cemetery's democratic nature, born from the urgent need for burial without regard for social or religious divisions, is a poignant reflection of the era's circumstances. It holds the resting places of seventeen First Fleet members and Australia's first Jewish headstone. Despite its historical goldmine status, the cemetery has struggled for funding since ceasing to be an active burial ground in the 1890s, relying heavily on the tireless efforts of volunteers. This dedication ensures that the stories of those interred here, and the very fabric of Australia's colonial past, are not lost to time or urban development.

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Everyone had to be buried quickly — there was no refrigeration. They didn't have time to make a posh area for the dignitaries or to divide the cemetery up into Catholics and Presbyterians and Baptists. It was very democratic because of the circumstances.