By Roselyn Fauth
09/12/2025
Most people walk past the strip of lawn at the southern side of the Timaru Cemetery without a second thought.
Local artist and community historian Roselyn Fauth had been on what she described as a "deep dive" into the history of the cemetery when she was looking for the grave of the mother of Timaru's first recorded European baby. Ann William's died in 1860, and while others who died around the time have marked graves and known grave locations, Fauth couldn't find Ann anywhere. On the history hunt, she learned about the cemeteries early beginnings, evolution and areas of lawn where there are no markers for the people who rest there.
It was when she saw someone playing with their dog in the area that she realised few people like her probably knew that this area and a few other areas in the Timaru cemetery was Free Ground. Home to what some people knew as the pauper graves from the 1860s. In this area are some of the 700 early residents of Timaru whose burials were paid for by the government, including about 250 stillborn babies.
Free Ground — sometimes referred to historically as the “pauper section” — was where people were buried when families could not afford a plot or when circumstances left no one able to arrange a private burial. When the reserve for the cemetery was first set aside in the 1860s, burials were led by the local churches. Later, an Act of Parliament transferred responsibility for cemeteries to local councils, which oversaw their management and record keeping. The Timaru Cemetery as we know it today grew from those early church-led burial grounds into a community resting place for all, regardless of circumstance or faith.
Fauth said that from that moment, she was on a new side quest that set off a months-long journey, taken not by a formal researcher or academic, but by a curious local who “got a bit carried away” and ended up raising the awareness of one of Timaru’s most overlooked historic places. Fauth teamed up with Les Jones, a memorial mason who has carved headstones in South Canterbury for decades, and together they began shaping a plan for a community-funded monument.
Burial records published by the Timaru District Council show that more than 700 people rest in Row 0 and the surrounding unmarked sections. Around 250 of them are stillborn babies. For decades, their presence has been known only to the quietly kept registers and the small number of families who carried that loss.
“It changed how I saw the whole place,” Fauth says. “It went from being an empty-looking lawn to one of the most meaningful areas in the cemetery.”
The pair found that unmarked graves were common not just in Timaru but throughout New Zealand’s early cemeteries. The reasons varied: some people died far from home; some were new arrivals; some lived only hours. Wooden markers disappeared over time, and records were sometimes lost. Epidemics forced hurried burials. And sometimes, families simply planned to add a headstone when they could afford it — but life took a different turn.
“It’s not a sign that someone wasn’t loved,” Fauth says. “You see all sorts of reasons in this line of work. Circumstances can be brutal.”
Row 0 contains some of the earliest burials in the Timaru Cemetery. These graves were made at a time when cemetery management in Timaru was governed by specific rules introduced from 1870 onward. Under the Cemetery Reserves Management Ordinance of 1870, and later the Cemeteries Management Act 1877, a tombstone could only be erected when an exclusive right of burial had been purchased. This payment gave legal permission for a monument. If no payment was made, the cemetery trustees retained full control of the plot and were required to keep the land available for future burials. These rules created a clear distinction between purchased plots, which could be marked and maintained, and free ground, where no such rights existed.
By the early 1880s, this system meant that people buried in free ground did not have the option of placing a headstone or caring for the grave. Families were not allowed to tidy or mark these graves because doing so would imply a claim to land for which no exclusive right had been bought. The free-ground area remained under the complete authority of the Cemetery Board, and reuse of the land was expected. As a result, early free-ground graves were never intended to be permanent.
Public concern about this arrangement became visible in July 1882. On 19 July, a correspondent wrote to the Timaru Herald after being told they could not maintain a grave in the free ground. Cemetery officials confirmed that the rule was in place. The writer expressed distress that families without means were prevented from showing respect to their deceased and raised fears that remains might later be disturbed.
A community initiative from start to finish
The proposed monument is entirely community-led — researched, designed, crafted, and fully fundraised by volunteers. No council budget is used.
“This is everyday Timaru people honouring everyday Timaru people,” Fauth says. “That’s the heart of it.”
Local leaders have voiced support and will join the community to unveil the plaque. Fauth said "It can be an opportunity to recognise the strength and hardship of early communities.” and “the kind of initiative that deepens our sense of who we are.”
Fauth isa also a local artist and designed the plaque inspired by the lifecycle of the harakeke — the rito protected by older leaves, outer leaves returning to the soil. It represents resilience, family, and the idea that even those who are unnamed strengthen the whole.
“Harakeke just felt right,” she says. It is a plant that our mana whenua and early settlers would have been familiar to. “It’s about belonging, and that’s what this monument was set out to do. Respectful, inclusive, grounded."
The project focuses on early burials right through the decades to present day in Timaru Cemetery. And while the inspiration was to acknowledge those who rest in unmarked graves, it was also to recognise all those who rest in unmarked graves in the wider cemetery. While the "pauper graves" were mostly in the Free Ground area, there are many more around the cemetery site too.
Fauth considered including the names of all those listed in Row 0. "We discussed it at length, and decided as the circumstances leading to a burial that was government-assisted could bring shame and a call for privacy we decided to keep it general. Also because people still receive government assisted burials today. that way the monument is respectful and inclusive.
People buried in Row 0 at the cemetery lie in what was once known as the Free Ground. These were the individuals who, for many different reasons, were laid to rest without a family plot, without a headstone, and often without anyone to speak for them afterwards. Some were poor. Some were alone. Some died suddenly, far from home. Others were working-class families who simply could not afford a stone at the time. Many were migrants, labourers, women on the margins, or children whose parents had little to give.
Understanding their stories helps us understand why Free Ground existed at all, what it meant in nineteenth-century Timaru, and why remembrance and inclusion still matter today. Every person in Row 0 had a life worth acknowledging. By bringing their stories forward — with accuracy, with context, and with compassion — we help ensure they are no longer lost to time.
This work is not about pity. It is about recognition.
It is about belonging.
It is about making sure that the monument we build stands for real people, not nameless space.
By learning their stories, we honour them.
By remembering them, we make the Free Ground visible again.
I have mixed feelings about Sunday’s unveiling. On one hand, I feel good about bringing awareness to the people who rest in unmarked graves at the Timaru Cemetery and the many reasons they came to be there. At the same time, learning about the individuals in Row 0 has been deeply sobering. I had assumed that funded burials were only for those who were poor, but that was not always the case. Some were simply passing through when they died. Some had no next of kin who could be reached in time. Others were victims of accidents, sea rescues, pandemics, violence. Some were widowed and left with almost nothing to live on. And over 270 were stillborn babies.
While the newspaper reports tugged at my heart, these peoples stories have brought me perspective. Its been grounding and made me feel more greatful.
They were real people, with real stories and a wide range of backgrounds. I am grateful that the council and the government ensured everyone could be buried with dignity. Yet it is still sad that those who could afford to buy a plot had the privilege of a memorial, while many others carried the social weight of a pauper’s grave.
By learning their stories and sharing what I have found, we are not only acknowledging people of the past. We are giving something meaningful to the future. We can reflect on their lives and use that understanding to make wiser choices for our own.
Creating this memorial for those who rest in unmarked graves has taught me something important. You do not have to be a tsunami to make an impact. You do not have to be the first, best or the most. Every person makes small ripples of impact, and those ripples shape the world around us and the generations who will follow.
This began as a memorial project. It has finished as something much deeper.
Looking ahead
With the cemetery nearing capacity and council advancing plans for a new one, Fauth says it’s important to recognise both the formal and informal roles in remembrance.
“The council looks after the cemetery for all of us, following the framework set by government. They take care of the practical side. The community gives it meaning. When both work together, we get something special.”
“I’m not a professional researcher,” Fauth says. “I just followed my curiosity, and it led here. I’m so grateful to everyone who helped me learn and understand the cemetery’s history and everyone who supported this project.”
She is especially grateful to Mayor Nigel Bowen and the Honourable James Meager, MP, who will help unveil the memorial on Sunday, 14 December at 10am.
“It feels like the right way to bring everyone together.”
At first glance the cemetery looks like neat rows of stones. Look closer and you notice the gaps, not because there are no graves, but because some people never received a marker at all. I never noticed that before. Once you’ve seen it, though, you can’t unsee it.