Odd Graveyard Practices in Rural Scotland

Jun 26, 2025

Scotland’s churchyards are places of peace, solemnity—and sometimes, quiet peculiarity. Among the sheep-nibbled turf and tilted headstones of rural kirkyards lie stories and customs that, while far from the supernatural, are certainly odd, practical, and deeply cultural. Whether it’s cows grazing among the graves or odd headstone placements, rural Scotland has long blended the sacred and the everyday in ways that might surprise modern visitors.

Cows in the Kirkyard: From Reverence to Ruminants

One of the most peculiar details from the 19th-century account of Eaglesham churchyard is that the burial ground doubled as a pasture for sheep—and in some cases, the minister’s cow. While this might strike contemporary readers as disrespectful, it was once common practice in many Scottish parishes.

Historically, burial grounds were not always enclosed, nor were they carefully manicured. They were often open plots of land adjacent to churches, which doubled as community commons. Ministers, who were poorly paid in many cases, were allowed to graze livestock on the glebe (church land), and in more informal arrangements, this extended to the burial grounds themselves.

A writer visiting Eaglesham in the mid-1800s noted, with mild distaste, that sheep grazed among the graves, and that he knew of at least one churchyard where the minister’s cow had free reign to nibble among the tombs. There’s also reference to a “clerical pony meditating among the tombs,” adding a touch of dry Scottish wit to an otherwise somber setting.

While not sacrilegious in intention, such uses of the graveyard often arose from practicality rather than reverence. Grass needed trimming, and livestock were natural lawnmowers. Today, most churchyards are enclosed and better maintained, but occasional sightings of sheep or cows in old kirkyards can still occur, especially in more remote regions.

Headstones That Face the Wrong Way

Another curious practice found in some rural Scottish graveyards is the non-standard orientation of gravestones. Traditionally, Christian burials placed the head to the west and the feet to the east, with the idea that the dead would face the rising sun (and the Second Coming). Yet, in several Scottish kirkyards, gravestones face north–south or are tilted at strange angles.

In places like Kirkconnel, Fearn Abbey, or Culross, local historians and archaeologists have puzzled over these configurations. Sometimes, the reasons are practical: awkward terrain, later extensions to graveyards, or attempts to fit in more lairs. In other cases, the explanations verge on local superstition, such as avoiding alignment with certain hills or regions associated with older, possibly pagan, beliefs.

Still, to the wandering visitor, a graveyard full of randomly aligned stones presents a curious visual riddle—as if the dead had turned in their sleep.

Recycled Graveyards and Tombstones

Another odd but verified practice involves the recycling of tombstones. In times of economic hardship, or when space was limited, it was not uncommon for older, weathered stones to be turned around and re-carved. In some places, a close look at the back of a gravestone reveals traces of earlier inscriptions, half-chiseled away or simply ignored.

During the 17th and 18th centuries, tombstones were also repurposed as paving slabs, lintels, or hearthstones. In Galloway and parts of Perthshire, flat grave markers were occasionally removed by locals and reused in barns or cottages—sometimes unwittingly, sometimes deliberately.

Today, the practice is largely condemned, but remnants remain, especially in abandoned kirkyards or places where conservation funds have been scarce.

The Stone Sermons: Headstone Poetry and Warnings

Scottish gravestones also frequently feature morbid verse and direct theological warnings, some of which now seem quaint or unusually harsh. In Eaglesham, one memorial stone reads:

“Their bodies in this grave do lie;
Their blood for vengeance yet doth cry.”

This line refers to two Covenanters executed in 1685, but it echoes a common motif in Scottish epitaphs: that the dead are not entirely silent, and that their fate should provoke moral reflection in the living.

In graveyards across Dumfries and the Borders, one may find such inscriptions as:

“As I am now, so you must be—
Prepare thyself to follow me.”

or the classic:

“Remember, man, as thou goest by,
As thou art now, so once was I.
As I am now, so thou shalt be—
Prepare thyself to follow me.”

These verses weren’t just poetic flourishes—they were didactic tools. Gravestones, in this sense, were part of a public religious education.

Odd Yet Enduring

Today, most of these practices have faded or are preserved only in anecdotes and records. Churchyards are fenced, grazing is rare, and stone conservation is strictly regulated. Yet echoes of these older customs still linger, especially in small or semi-abandoned kirkyards.

If you walk through the backfields of East Ayrshire, Galloway, or the Highlands, don’t be surprised if you encounter a lone sheep between the stones, or a tombstone face-down in the earth. These are remnants of a time when the line between the sacred and the everyday was softer—when the graveyard was as much a community space as it was a resting place.

They may seem odd now, but they were practical then. And in their way, they tell us as much about Scottish life as they do about Scottish death.