Many South African farms have family graveyards. The farm I spent much time visiting in the early nineties had one, very similar to the borrowed pic above and with much same sort of scenery.
I always carry a camera, albeit of the ‘mik and druk’ variety (point and press?). I like to photograph people mostly, make memories, and at the time had a good little camera that never let me down.
One memorable weekend, down on the farm, following a merry lunch where we had all indulged rather freely with the vino, a long walk was called for and we found ourselves up at the family graveyard.
In retrospect I recall that we were not being very respectful. An unoccupied site within the small fenced off area did seem to be.. erm, rising? A definite hump in the ground. My ex, son of the farm owner, made a thing of saying that clearly the graveyard was getting ready to receive his father. We thought it funny and I took photographs of various people larking about amongst the headstones.
On having the film developed all my photographs of the weekend turned out beautifully. Many happy snaps. Except for the five or six taken at the graveyard. They simply were not there. No blank negs – nada – as though I had never taken them. Photos taken before and after the graveyard interlude were perfect.
I don’t know if this is a spook story or not, but I gave the graveyard a wide berth thereafter!