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MARKETING COMMUNICATIONS
‘. . . quite simply the best introduction to Marketing Communications that I have read. Chris
Fill and Sarah Turnbull have managed to produce a book, now in its seventh edition, that is
exceptionally easy to read and thoroughly up-to-date. Its viewpoints, scholarly synopses and
engaging content will enliven the learning experience of every student who reads it.’
Anthony Patterson, University of Liverpool
‘Chris Fill’s books have been my core recommended texts for years. This seventh edition with
the addition of Sarah Turnbull takes another leap forward and does not disappoint. It strikes
the balance between theory and practice, is well structured, and is packed with insight.’
Dr Jonathan A.J. Wilson, Programme Director, Postgraduate
SEVENTH EDITION
Marketing degrees, University of Greenwich
This seventh edition of Marketing Communications provides both a rich source of theory and an
invaluable insight into how brands create communications and engage audiences in brand conversations.
SEVENTH
EDITION MARKETING
COMMUNICATIONS
With contributions from brand owners and their advertising agencies from around the world, the book
provides a unique blend of the theory and practice of brand communications.
SARAH TURNBULL
CHRIS FILL
Sarah Turnbull joins Chris Fill as co-author on the seventh edition and together their passion for marketing
communications comes alive in this book as they share their expertise and experience. Its strong theoretical
underpinning and selection of contemporary case studies makes this the definitive text for undergraduate
and postgraduate students in marketing, marketing with psychology, advertising, business studies and other
marketing-related programmes. It is recognised as the authoritative text for professional courses such as those
run by The Chartered Institute of Marketing, and is supported by the Institute of Practitioners in Advertising.
discovery, creation and conversations
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Chris Fill BA, MSc. FCIM, is a Director of Fillassociates. Chris has authored
over 30 textbooks, published papers in many leading academic journals, and is
CHRIS FILL
internationally recognised for his contribution to marketing communications. He
is a Fellow and former Senior Examiner at the Chartered Institute of Marketing. SARAH TURNBULL
Sarah Turnbull PhD, MBA, MSc, FCIM, FHEA is a Principal Lecturer at the
University of Portsmouth and a Fellow of The Chartered Institute of Marketing.
Prior to joining academia she worked in a number of global advertising agencies
and spent eight years as Account Director on the Emirates account in Dubai.
www.pearson-books.com
Marketing
Communications
discovery, creation and conversations
First published under the Prentice Hall Europe imprint 1995 (print)
Fourth edition 2005 (print)
Fifth edition 2009 (print)
Sixth edition 2013 (print and electronic)
Seventh edition published 2016 (print and electronic)
The rights of Chris Fill and Sarah Turnbull to be identified as authors of this work have been
asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
The print publication is protected by copyright. Prior to any prohibited reproduction, storage
in a retrieval system, distribution or transmission in any form or by any means, electronic,
mechanical, recording or otherwise, permission should be obtained from the publisher or,
where applicable, a licence permitting restricted copying in the United Kingdom should be
obtained from the Copyright Licensing Agency Ltd, Saffron House, 6–10 Kirby Street,
London EC1N 8TS.
The ePublication is protected by copyright and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred,
distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically
permitted in writing by the publisher, as allowed under the terms and conditions under
which it was purchased, or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any
unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the authors’
and the publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
All trademarks used herein are the property of their respective owners. The use of any
trademark in this text does not vest in the author or publisher any trademark ownership
rights in such trademarks, nor does the use of such trademarks imply any affiliation with or
endorsement of this book by such owners.
Pearson Education is not responsible for the content of third-party internet sites.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
20 19 18 17 16
NOTE THAT ANY PAGE CROSS REFERENCES REFER TO THE PRINT EDITION
Preface xix
Acknowledgements xxix
Publisher’s acknowledgements xxxi
Preface xix
Acknowledgements xxix
Publisher’s acknowledgements xxxi
Key points 33
Review questions 34
References 35
Key points 66
Review questions 67
References 68
Conclusion 140
Key points 141
Review questions 142
References 143
13 Sponsorship 422
Door-to-door 466
Radio and television 466
Interactive media 467
Personal Selling 467
The tasks of personal selling 467
The role of personal selling 469
When personal selling should be a major part of the communications mix 471
Complexity 472
Buyer significance 472
Communications effectiveness 472
Channel network factors 473
The role of social media in personal selling 473
Strategic account management 476
Key account management 476
Global account management 480
Lecturer Resources
For password-protected online resources tailored to support
the use of this textbook in teaching, please visit
www.pearsoned.co.uk/fill
This is the seventh edition of Marketing Communications and it marks the introduction
of Dr Sarah Turnbull as my co-author. Sarah has a wealth of advertising experience
from both a practical and academic perspective. She has provided a valuable new per-
spective and her contribution has undoubtedly enriched the book. We have made sev-
eral changes which we believe enhance the book significantly. These changes are
explained here in the Preface but you will be the judge of the impact of these changes.
So thank you for reading our book, and if you have any comments, observations,
suggestions or opinions, please feel free to contact me through chris@chrisfill.com or
Sarah through sarah.turnbull@port.ac.uk.
This book has been written to help you in four ways:
1 To understand and appreciate the variety of ways in which organisations use market-
ing communications.
2 To identify and understand some of the key theories and concepts associated with
marketing communications.
3 To appreciate the way in which academic materials can be used to interpret practical
aspects of marketing communications.
4 To develop insights into the reasoning behind the marketing communications activi-
ties used by organisations.
Marketing communications is a complex subject and draws on a variety of disciplines.
This book has been written in the hope of disentangling some of the complexity so that
you can enjoy the subject, be stimulated to want to know more and wish to engage
further with the exciting and fast-changing world of marketing communications.
A world of marketing
communications
All organisations, large and small, commercial, government, charities, educational and
other not-for-profit and third-sector organisations need to communicate with a range of
stakeholders. This may be in order to get materials and services to undertake their busi-
ness activities or to collaborate and coordinate with others to secure suitable distribu-
tion of their goods and services. In addition, there are consumers who are free to choose
among the many hundreds and thousands of product/service offerings. Marketing com-
munications provides a core activity so that all interested parties can understand the
intentions of others and appreciate the value of the goods and services offered.
The world of marketing communications is changing, and some of it is changing at
an incredible speed. Technology, buyer behaviour, economic cycles, industry and
organisational performance have all evolved and all impact on the way we communi-
cate, when we communicate and how we communicate.
Many of these changes and their impact are explored in this book. It is not possible
to cover them all in depth but many of the key academic and practitioner reactions to
these developments are examined.
Structure
This book is structured around three parts: Introduction to marketing communications;
Managing marketing communications; and The marketing communications mix.
Content
Each chapter has been updated and where appropriate includes current academic mate-
rials (ideas, arguments, models, references and papers). The fundamental principles
associated with marketing communications remain.
Cases
Each chapter is introduced with a practitioner-based case study. The majority of these
have been written by a client organisation or its agency. Reference to each case is made
throughout the relevant chapter and questions relating to these cases can be found at
the end of the chapter.
Many of these cases have been written and supplied by several communications
agencies who are associated with the Institute of Practitioners in Advertising (IPA).
Indeed, the IPA has again provided important support for this edition.
Viewpoints
Examples of marketing communications practice can be found as Viewpoints. There
are a minimum of four Viewpoints per chapter, each illustrating particular issues or
topics. For the first time we have included Viewpoints written by students from UK
universities. We wish to extend this form of co-creation in the future and incorporate
examples co-created by students from other countries and regions. Please contact us if
you feel you would like to contribute to the next edition.
Scholars’ papers
The Scholars’ paper innovation has been continued and where feasible enhanced by
including papers that offer divergent views. Reference to various topics such as ethics,
business-to-business (B2B) communications, social media and international dimensions
are embedded throughout the book.
contextual elements and the application of the various disciplines. The notion that
integrated marketing communications (IMC) is a valid and realistic concept is explored
and readers are encouraged to consider the arguments for and against this approach.
Its position at the end of the management part of the book is designed to encourage
readers to reflect on what should be integrated and what integration incorporates.
Cases
In this edition 19 of the 20 cases are new. These have been written by a variety of peo-
ple including client organisations and marketing communications agencies.
Case The intellectual alibi – or how the Dacia challenged conventional perceptions of value
Case Petplan
Chapter 13 Sponsorship
These cases either refer to broad issues concerning a particular topic, or focus on a
specific issue that is included in the chapter to which the case is assigned. Some refer
to several c ampaigns undertaken for a specific brand or company, whilst others con-
sider a specific campaign and associated activities. All serve to introduce a particular
aspect of marketing communications and should be used to frame the way readers
approach the content of each chapter. There are review questions at the end of each
chapter that refer directly to the introductory case.
Chapter objectives
Each chapter opens with both the aims of what is to be covered and a list of learning
objectives. This helps to signal the primary topics that are covered in the chapter and
so guide the learning experience.
Cases
Each chapter opens with a campaign–based case study. The majority of these have been
written by marketing managers at client organisations or planners at agencies. These
are used either to introduce the broad flow of the chapter’s material or to focus on a
particular topic.
These short cases can be used in class for discussion purposes and to explore some
of the salient issues raised in the chapter. Students working alone can use the cases to
test their own understanding.
Visual supports
This book is produced in four colours and throughout the text there are numerous
colour and black and white exhibits, figures (diagrams) and tables of information
which serve to highlight, illustrate and bring life to the written word. The pictures used
serve either to illustrate particular points by demonstrating theory in practice or to
complement individual examples. The examples are normally highlighted in the text as
Viewpoints. These examples are easily distinguishable through the colour contrasts and
serve to demonstrate how a particular aspect of marketing communications has been
used by an organisation in a particular context. We hope you enjoy these Viewpoints
of marketing communications p ractice.
In this edition several Viewpoints have been contributed by students from a range of
universities. We hope you like this development and perspective that students bring to
the subject. Contributions from students and marketing practitioners to the next edi-
tion would be warmly welcomed.
Web support
Students and lecturers who adopt this text have a range of support materials and
facilities to help them. Readers are invited to use the website designed for Marketing
Communications, not only as a source of additional material but also as an interactive
forum to explore and discuss marketing communications issues, academic and practi-
tioner developments and to improve learning. The site accommodates the needs of
student readers and lecturers.
Student resources
Lecturer resources
“‘Ha, ha, ha! Tam Beattie,’ added she, ‘where is a’ your courage
now? Cannot ye lift up your voice and sing a stave wi’ your auld
crony? And cannot ye lift up your een, and see what region you are in
now?’
“I did force open my eyelids, and beheld light, and apparently
worlds, or huge lurid substances, gliding by me with speed beyond
that of the lightning of heaven. I certainly perceived light, though of a
dim, uncertain nature; but so precipitate was my descent, I could not
distinguish from whence it proceeded, or of what it consisted,
whether of the vapours of chaotic wastes, or the streamers of hell. So
I again shut my eyes closer than ever, and waited the event in terror
unutterable.
“We at length came upon something which interrupted our farther
progress. I had no feeling as we fell against it, but merely as if we
came in contact with some soft substance that impeded our descent;
and immediately afterwards I perceived that our motion had ceased.
“‘What a terrible tumble we hae gotten, Laird!’ said my
companion. ‘But ye are now in the place where you should be; and
deil speed the coward!’
“So saying, she quitted my hand, and I felt as if she were wrested
from me by a third object; but still I durst not open my eyes, being
convinced that I was lying in the depths of hell, or some hideous
place not to be dreamt of; so I lay still in despair, not even daring to
address a prayer to my Maker. At length I lifted my eyes slowly and
fearfully; but they had no power of distinguishing objects. All that I
perceived was a vision of something in nature, with which I had in
life been too well acquainted. It was a glimpse of green glens, long
withdrawing ridges, and one high hill, with a cairn on its summit. I
rubbed my eyes to divest them of the enchantment, but when I
opened them again, the illusion was still brighter and more
magnificent. Then springing to my feet, I perceived that I was lying
in a little fairy ring, not one hundred yards from the door of my own
hall!
“I was, as you may well conceive, dazzled with admiration; still I
felt that something was not right with me, and that I was struggling
with an enchantment; but recollecting the hideous story told me by
the beldame, of the deadly discord between my two sons, I hasted to
watch their motions, for the morning was yet but dawning. In a few
seconds after recovering my senses, I perceived my eldest son
Thomas leave his tower armed, and pass on towards the place of
appointment. I waylaid him, and remarked to him that he was very
early astir, and I feared on no good intent. He made no answer, but
stood like one in a stupor, and gazed at me. ‘I know your purpose,
son Thomas,’ said I; ‘so it is in vain for you to equivocate. You have
challenged your brother, and are going to meet him in deadly
combat; but as you value your father’s blessing, and would deprecate
his curse—as you value your hope of heaven, and would escape the
punishment of hell—abandon the hideous and cursed intent, and be
reconciled to your only brother.’
“On this, my dutiful son Thomas kneeled to me, and presented his
sword, disclaiming at the same time all intentions of taking away his
brother’s life, and all animosity for the vengeance sought against
himself, and thanked me in a flood of tears for my interference. I
then commanded him back to his couch, and taking his cloak and
sword, hasted away to the Crook of Glendearg, to wait the arrival of
his brother.”
Here Andrew Johnston’s narrative detailed the selfsame
circumstances recorded in a former part of this tale, as having passed
between the father and his younger son, so that it is needless to
recapitulate them; but beginning where that broke off, he added, in
the words of the old laird: “As soon as my son Francis had left me, in
order to be reconciled to his brother, I returned to the fairy knowe
and ring, where I first found myself seated at daybreak. I know not
why I went there, for though I considered with myself, I could
discover no motive that I had for doing so, but was led thither by a
sort of impulse which I could not resist, and from the same feeling
spread my son’s mantle on the spot, laid his sword beside it, and
stretched me down to sleep. I remember nothing farther with any
degree of accuracy, for I instantly fell into a chaos of suffering,
confusion, and racking dismay, from which I was only of late
released by awaking from a trance on the very seat, and in the same
guise in which I was the evening before. I am certain I was at home
in body or in spirit—saw my sons—spake these words to them, and
heard theirs in return. How I returned I know even less, if that is
possible, than how I went; for it seemed to me that the mysterious
force that presses us to this sphere, and supports us on it, was in my
case withdrawn or subverted, and that I merely fell from one part of
the earth’s surface and alighted on another. Now I am so ill that I
cannot move from this couch; therefore, Andrew, do you mount and
ride straight home. Spare no horseflesh, by night or by day, to bring
me word of my family, for I dread that some evil hath befallen them.
If you find them in life, give them many charges from me of brotherly
love and affection; if not—what can I say, but, in the words of the
patriarch, if I am bereaved of my children, I am bereaved.”
The two brothers, in utter amazement, went together to the green
ring on the top of the knoll above the castle of Cassway, and there
found the mantle lying spread, and the sword beside it. They then,
without letting Johnston into the awful secret, mounted straight, and
rode off with him to their father. They found him still in bed, and
very ill; and though rejoiced at seeing them, they soon lost hope of
his recovery, his spirits being broken and deranged in a wonderful
manner. Their conversations together were of the most solemn
nature, the visitation deigned to them having been above their
capacity. On the third or fourth day, their father was removed by
death from this terrestrial scene, and the minds of the young men
were so much impressed by the whole of the circumstances, that it
made a great alteration in their after life. Thomas, as solemnly
charged by his father, married Ellen Scott, and Francis was well
known afterwards as the celebrated Dr Beattie of Amherst. Ellen was
mother to twelve sons; and on the night that her seventh son was
born, her aunt Jerdan was lost, and never more heard of, either
living or dead.[9]
9. This will be viewed as a most romantic and unnatural story, as without
doubt it is; but I have the strongest reasons for believing that it is founded on a
literal fact, of which all the three were sensibly and positively convinced. It was
published in England in Dr Beattie’s lifetime, and by his acquiescence, and owing
to the respectable source from whence it came, it was never disputed in that day
that it had its origin in truth. It was again republished, with some miserable
alterations, in a London collection of 1770, by J. Smith, at No. 15, Paternoster Row,
and though I have seen none of these accounts, but relate the story wholly from
tradition, yet the assurance obtained from a friend of their existence, is a curious
corroborative circumstance, and proves that if the story was not true, the parties at
least believed it to be so.—Note by the Author.
THE ELDER’S FUNERAL.
By Professor Wilson.
How beautiful to the eye and to the heart rise up, in a pastoral
region, the green silent hills from the dissolving snow-wreaths that
yet linger at their feet! A few warm sunny days, and a few breezy and
melting nights, have seemed to create the sweet season of spring out
of the winter’s bleakest desolation. We can scarcely believe that such
brightness of verdure could have been shrouded in the snow,
blending itself, as it now does, so vividly with the deep blue of
heaven. With the revival of nature our own souls feel restored.
Happiness becomes milder, meeker, and richer in pensive thought;
while sorrow catches a faint tinge of joy, and reposes itself on the
quietness of earth’s opening breast. Then is youth rejoicing—
manhood sedate—and old age resigned. The child shakes his golden
curls in his glee; he of riper life hails the coming year with temperate
exultation; and the eye that has been touched with dimness, in the
general spirit of delight, forgets or fears not the shadows of the grave.
On such a vernal day as this did we, who had visited the Elder on
his death-bed,[10] walk together to his house in the Hazel Glen, to
accompany his body to the place of burial. On the night he died, it
seemed to be the dead of winter. On the day he was buried, it seemed
to be the birth of spring. The old pastor and I were alone for awhile
as we pursued our path up the glen, by the banks of the little burn. It
had cleared itself off from the melted snow, and ran so pellucid a
race that every stone and pebble was visible in its yellow channel.
The willows, the alders, and the birches, the fairest and the earliest of
our native hill-trees, seemed almost tinged with a verdant light, as if
they were budding; and beneath them, here and there peeped out, as
in the pleasure of new existence, the primrose lonely, or in little
families and flocks. The bee had not yet ventured to leave his cell, yet
the flowers reminded one of his murmur. A few insects were dancing
in the air, and here and there some little moorland bird, touched at
the heart with the warm and sunny change, was piping his love-sweet
song among the braes. It was just such a day as a grave meditative
man, like him we were about to inter, would have chosen to walk
over his farm in religious contentment with his lot. That was the
thought that entered the pastor’s heart, as we paused to enjoy one
brighter gleam of the sun in a little meadow-field of peculiar beauty.
10. See ante, page 280.
“This is the last day of the week, and on that day often did the
Elder walk through this little happy kingdom of his own, with some
of his grandchildren beside and around him, and often his Bible in
his hand. It is, you feel, a solitary place,—all the vale is one seclusion
—and often have its quiet bounds been a place of undisturbed
meditation and prayer.”
We now came in sight of the cottage, and beyond it the
termination of the glen. There the high hills came sloping gently
down; and a little waterfall, in the distance, gave animation to a
scene of perfect repose. We were now joined by various small parties
coming to the funeral through openings among the hills; all sedate,
but none sad, and every greeting was that of kindness and peace. The
Elder had died full of years; and there was no need why any out of his
household should weep. A long life of piety had been beautifully
closed; and, therefore, we were all going to commit the body to the
earth, assured, as far as human beings may be so assured, that the
soul was in heaven. As the party increased on our approach to the
house, there was even cheerfulness among us. We spoke of the early
and bright promise of spring—of the sorrows and joys of other
families—of marriages and births—of the new schoolmaster—of to-
morrow’s Sabbath. There was no topic of which, on any common
occasion, it might have been fitting to speak, that did not now
perhaps occupy, for a few moments, some one or other of the group,
till we found ourselves ascending the greensward before the cottage,
and stood below the bare branches of the sycamores. Then we were
all silent, and, after a short pause, reverently entered into the house
of death.
At the door the son received us with a calm, humble, and
untroubled face; and in his manner towards the old minister, there
was something that could not be misunderstood, expressing
penitence, gratitude, and resignation. We all sat down in the large
kitchen; and the son decently received each person at the door, and
showed him to his place. There were some old gray heads, more
becoming gray, and many bright in manhood and youth. But the
same solemn hush was over them all, and they sat all bound together
in one uniting and assimilating spirit of devotion and faith. Wine and
bread were to be sent round; but the son looked to the old minister,
who rose, lifted up his withered hand, and began a blessing and a
prayer.
There was so much composure and stillness in the old man’s
attitude, and something so affecting in his voice, tremulous and
broken, not in grief but age, that no sooner had he begun to pray,
than every heart and every breath at once were hushed. All stood
motionless, nor could one eye abstain from that placid and
patriarchal countenance, with its closed eyes, and long silvery hair.
There was nothing sad in his words, but they were all humble and
solemn, and at times even joyful in the kindling spirit of piety and
faith. He spoke of the dead man’s goodness as imperfect in the eyes
of his Great Judge, but such as, we were taught, might lead, through
intercession, to the kingdom of heaven. Might the blessing of God, he
prayed, which had so long rested on the head now coffined, not
forsake that of him who was now to be the father of this house. There
was more—more joy, we were told, in heaven, over one sinner that
repenteth, than over ninety and nine just persons which need no
repentance. Fervently, too, and tenderly, did the old man pray for
her, in her silent chamber, who had lost so kind a parent, and for all
the little children round her knees. Nor did he end his prayer without
some allusion to his own gray hairs, and to the approaching day on
which many then present would attend his burial.
Just as he ceased to speak, one solitary stifled sob was heard, and
all eyes turned kindly round to a little boy who was standing by the
side of the Elder’s son. Restored once more to his own father’s love,
his heart had been insensibly filled with peace since the old man’s
death. The returning tenderness of the living came in place of that of
the dead, and the child yearned towards his father now with a
stronger affection, relieved at last from all his fear. He had been
suffered to sit an hour each day beside the bed on which his
grandfather lay shrouded, and he had got reconciled to the cold but
silent and happy looks of death. His mother and his Bible told him to
obey God without repining in all things; and the child did so with
perfect simplicity. One sob had found its way at the close of that
pathetic prayer; but the tears that bathed his glistening cheeks were
far different from those that, on the day and night of his
grandfather’s decease, had burst from the agony of a breaking heart.
The old minister laid his hand silently upon his golden head; there
was a momentary murmur of kindness and pity over the room; the
child was pacified, and again all was repose and peace.
A sober voice said all was ready, and the son and the minister led
the way reverently out into the open air. The bier stood before the
door, and was lifted slowly up with its sable pall. Silently each
mourner took his place. The sun was shining pleasantly, and a gentle
breeze, passing through the sycamore, shook down the glittering
raindrops upon the funeral velvet. The small procession, with an
instinctive spirit, began to move along; and as I cast up my eyes to
take a farewell look of that beautiful dwelling, now finally left by him
who so long had blessed it, I saw at the half-open lattice of the little
bedroom window above, the pale weeping face of that stainless
matron, who was taking her last passionate farewell of the mortal
remains of her father, now slowly receding from her to the quiet field
of graves.
We proceeded along the edges of the hills, and along the meadow-
fields, crossed the old wooden bridge over the burn, now widening in
its course to the plain, and in an hour of pensive silence, or pleasant
talk, we found ourselves entering, in a closer body, the little gateway
of the churchyard. To the tolling of the bell we moved across the
green mounds, and arranged ourselves, according to the plan and
order which our feelings suggested, around the bier and its natural
supporters. There was no delay. In a few minutes the Elder was laid
among the mould of his forefathers, in their long-ago chosen spot of
rest. One by one the people dropped away, and none were left by the
new made grave but the son and his little boy, the pastor and myself.
As yet nothing was said, and in that pause I looked around me, over
the sweet burial-ground.
Each tombstone and grave over which I had often walked in
boyhood arose in my memory, as I looked steadfastly upon their
long-forgotten inscriptions; and many had then been erected. The
whole character of the place was still simple and unostentatious, but
from the abodes of the dead I could see that there had been an
improvement in the condition of the living. There was a taste visible
in their decorations, not without much of native feeling, and
occasionally something even of native grace. If there was any other
inscription than the name and age of the poor inhabitants below, it
was, in general, some short text of Scripture; for it is most pleasant
and soothing to the pious mind, when bereaved of friends, to
commemorate them on earth by some touching expression taken
from that Book which reveals to them a life in heaven.
There is a sort of gradation, a scale of forgetfulness, in a country
churchyard, where the processes of nature are suffered to go on over
the green place of burial, that is extremely affecting in the
contemplation. The soul goes from the grave just covered up, to that
which seems scarcely joined together, on and on to those folded and
bound by the undisturbed verdure of many, many unremembered
years. It then glides at last into nooks and corners where the ground
seems perfectly calm and waveless, utter oblivion having smoothed
the earth over the long mouldered bones. Tombstones, on which the
inscriptions are hidden in green obliteration, or that are mouldering,
or falling to a side, are close to others which last week were brushed
by the chisel;—constant renovation and constant decay—vain
attempts to adhere to memory—and oblivion, now baffled and now
triumphant, smiling among all the memorials of human affection, as
they keep continually crumbling away into the world of
undistinguishable dust and ashes.
The churchyard, to the inhabitants of a rural parish, is the place to
which, as they grow older, all their thoughts and feelings turn. The
young take a look of it every Sabbath-day, not always perhaps a
careless look, but carry away from it, unconsciously, many salutary
impressions. What is more pleasant than the meeting of a rural
congregation in the churchyard before the minister appears? What is
there to shudder at in lying down, sooner or later, in such a peaceful
and sacred place, to be spoken of frequently on Sabbath among the
groups of which we used to be one, and our low burial-spot to be
visited, at such times, as long as there remains on earth any one to
whom our face was dear? To those who mix in the strife and dangers
of the world, the place is felt to be uncertain wherein they may finally
lie at rest. The soldier—the sailor—the traveller—can only see some
dim grave dug for him when he dies, in some place obscure,
nameless, and unfixed to the imagination. All he feels is, that his
burial will be—on earth—or in the sea. But the peaceful dwellers who
cultivate their paternal acres, or tilling at least the same small spot of
soil, shift only from a cottage on the hillside to one on the plain, still
within the bounds of one quiet parish; they look to lay their bones at
last in the burial-place of the kirk in which they were baptised, and
with them it almost literally is but a step from the cradle to the grave.
Such were the thoughts that calmly followed each other in my
reverie, as I stood beside the Elder’s grave, and the trodden grass was
again lifting up its blades from the pressure of many feet, now all, but
a few, departed. What a simple burial had it been! Dust was
consigned to dust—no more. Bare, naked, simple, and austere is in
Scotland the service of the grave. It is left to the soul itself to
consecrate, by its passion, the mould over which tears, but no words,
are poured. Surely there is a beauty in this; for the heart is left unto
its own sorrow—according as it is a friend—a brother—a parent—or a
child, that is covered up from our eyes. Yet call not other rites,
however different from this, less beautiful or pathetic. For willingly
does the soul connect its grief with any consecrated ritual of the
dead. Sound or silence—music—hymns—psalms—sable garments, or
raiment white as snow—all become holy symbols of the soul’s
affection; nor is it for any man to say which is the most natural,
which is the best, of the thousand shows and expressions, and
testimonies of sorrow, resignation, and love, by which mortal beings
would seek to express their souls when one of their brethren has
returned to his parent dust.
My mind was recalled from all these sad, yet not unpleasant
fancies, by a deep groan, and I beheld the Elder’s son fling himself
down upon the grave and kiss it passionately, imploring pardon from
God. “I distressed my father’s heart in his old age—I repented—and
received thy forgiveness even on thy death-bed! But how may I be
assured that God will forgive me for having so sinned against my old,
grayheaded father, when his limbs were weak and his eyesight dim!”
The old minister stood at the head of the grave without speaking a
word, with his solemn and pitiful eyes fixed upon the prostrate and
contrite man. His sin had been great, and tears that till now had, on
this day at least, been compressed within his heart by the presence of
so many of his friends, now poured down upon the sod as if they
would have found their way to the very body of his father. Neither of
us offered to lift him up, for we felt awed by the rueful passion of his
love, his remorse, and his penitence; and nature, we felt, ought to
have her way. “Fear not, my son,” at length said the old man, in a
gentle voice—“fear not, my son, but that you are already forgiven.
Dost thou not feel pardon within thy contrite spirit?” He rose up
from his knees with a faint smile, while the minister, with his white
head yet uncovered, held his hands over him as in benediction; and
that beautiful and loving child, who had been standing in a fit of
weeping terror at his father’s agony, now came up to him and kissed
his cheek—holding in his little hand a few faded primroses which he
had unconsciously gathered together as they lay on the turf of his
grandfather’s grave.
MACDONALD, THE CATTLE-RIEVER.