Grave Concerns: Histories of Death for the Modern Day
In 1697, a young woman named Grace Gethin died, and her mother's grief was monumental.
Design for Memorial to Grace Gethin, Unknown Artist, 1697. © National Portrait Gallery, London.
Frances Norton (1644-1731) poured herself into building a lasting image of her daughter. Not only was a memorial erected at Grace's burial place in Hollingbourne Church, but her parents also placed a monument in Westminster Abbey. Here, the great and the good of London would forever look upon a stone replica of their daughter, kneeling and clutching a book, surrounded by angels. Not satisfied with this as Grace's legacy, Frances went on to write multiple works on grieving—perhaps as a way of dealing with her loss. These included Memento mori: or, meditations on death, Applause of Virtue, and a collection of Grace's own writings, Reliquae Gethinianae.
As soon as a Man is born, that which in Nature only remains in him, is to die.1
Grace was immortalised in both stone and print thanks to her mother's dedication, and a girl who would have been buried and forgotten to time now is seen by hundreds of thousands of visitors a year to Westminster Abbey. Frances, I'm sure, would see the legacy she built for her daughter as a success. Here I am writing about Grace almost 350 years later.
Yet I didn't choose this story as the first in this blog simply because it's a poignant tale of mother-daughter love. The story of Frances and Grace challenges everything we think we know about how people in the past dealt with death. We're often told that death was simply accepted as part of life back then—that thanks to its ubiquity, it became expected and unremarkable, just part of everyday existence. But look at Grace's memorial, commissioned by her "dear & disconsolate parents," and you'll see something else entirely: an outpouring of grief for a young life lost. This wasn't stoic acceptance. This was devastating, human grief.
Why Death History Matters
Whilst it will quickly become apparent through this blog that death’s ubiquity and stoicism do not go hand in hand throughout history, it cannot be underestimated that death was certainly more present and central in everyday life. Today, we've created what many argue is an unprecedented chasm between life and death. Death has been sterilised, medicalised, and pushed to the margins of everyday life… until suddenly, it isn't, and we find ourselves unprepared for the deep, sometimes mixed feelings that follow.
The question I would like to ask here, is whether we can learn something from the approaches of those who came before us. This blog seeks to bring stories to life. Think of it as sharing historical tales over coffee with friends, exploring what the past might teach us about our own encounters with mortality. My hope is that these historical stories will spark something in you. That's what I'm really after: those moments when the past suddenly feels personal, when you find yourself wanting to share your own story in response. You are always, always welcome to comment on the posts with your own experiences.
What you’ll find here
This blog explores death and everything that comes with it. We cover topics from medicine and doctors to funerals and funerary sermons, wills and final wishes to graves and graveyards. What follows will be a whistle-stop tour through subjects related to death, meticulously researched by yours truly, with plenty of further reading for the morbidly curious among you.
My writing style is, hopefully, not what you'd find in an academic journal. This is really for anyone interested in death, which should be everyone, since it will happen to us all.
Thanks to the nature of my research, I primarily explore the early modern period, though I may dabble in other eras when the muse strikes. Equally, while I'll focus primarily on British history as this is where my own research lies (with a slight North East England slant, thanks to my current home), death is universal, and human responses to it cross all boundaries. I would love to slowly start exploring death in other cultures and communities. I want to learn as much as possible about death and dying throughout history, across the world, and in turn, share this with you.
A Few Important Notes
Content Warning: This blog will deal with some topics that may be triggering or uncomfortable. I will always endeavour to place trigger warnings (usually as 'TW') as early as possible within blog posts, so you can avoid content that just isn't for you.
My Approach: You'll find a mix of gentle humour, some light sarcasm, and occasional prodding at historical customs, but it's all in good faith and with deep understanding that we're talking about real people's lives and deaths.
On AI Use: For full transparency, I use AI (specifically Claude by Anthropic) to tighten my work here on Grave Concerns. This blog is a labour of love, and I simply don't have time for multiple rounds of edits while maintaining a full-time job. My limited AI usage is inspired by Inger Mewburn (The Thesis Whisperer), and you can learn more about this here. Please know that I do all the research, writing, and first round of edits for the blog posts myself.
Going Forward
Much of the North East remains relatively understudied when it comes to academic writings on death and funerary heritage, yet there's a strong, collegiate group of non-institutional historians who have built a community here willing to share knowledge and discoveries. I intend this newsletter to focus on as wide a spectrum of early modern society as possible, bringing these overlooked stories to light.
Welcome to Grave Concerns. Let's dig in.
Frances Norton, Memento mori, or, Meditations on Death, printed for John Graves, at the Bible in Salisbury-Street in the Strand (London, 1705), 13. Accessed through Gale Eighteenth Century Collections Online, 26 July 2025.