Dylan Thomas’s grave is an extravagantly simple affair. He’s buried in the overspill graveyard at St Martin’s church in Laugharne on the Carmarthenshire coast. There’s no gravestone, just a white wooden cross with his name on one side and, on the other, that of his wife, Caitlin, who lies there with him. I don’t recall seeing a humbler resting place for any such celebrated person.
I wonder if the man who famously raged against the dying of the light would be so enraged about his light dying that he would like his grave this way, having something so basic in which he could sulk for eternity. Rightly or wrongly, the simplicity of it suggested humility; the man went up in my estimation.
