How to bury your mother-in-law

Hans Faber
Apr 17, 2017
9 min read

Updated: 4 days ago

Your mother-in-law probably chased your tail during life. But do not be so sure you are free once she is gone. If you are looking for advice on how to stop her spirit from haunting you after death, this blog post is for you.

Here is a piece of advice that is over two thousand years old—perfect if you would prefer no interference from her after death. It comes from the terp dwellers of old—those who built their homes on man-made mounds to stay safe from the floods—in what is now the region of Ostfriesland in Germany and the provinces of Friesland and Groningen in the Netherlands. After reading this blog post, you will tread more carefully on your hikes along the Frisia Coast Trail. That much is certain.

First of all, cremation was not an option. In fact, only three cremation burials have ever been found in the salt-marsh regions of the Netherlands. For the ancient peoples of the north—during the Late Iron Age along the Wadden Sea coast—the usual practice was to leave the body out on the tidal marshlands for scavengers. Most often, the body was meant to be consumed by their own dogs—large, numerous, and integral to the ritual. These dogs served as intermediaries between the world of the living and the afterlife (Nieuwhof 2015), much like their close relatives, the wolf, long associated with death and savagery (Smeyers 2023).

The ancient salt-marsh funeral rites bear a certain resemblance to those practiced in Tibet today, where vultures take on the role of releasing the spirit from the body. Similarly, the Frisians of northern Germany and the Netherlands had little to no access to wood for cremation in ancient times. The flat, barren tidal marshlands were too salty for trees to grow, fresh water was scarce, and the sea regularly flooded the land. Faced with these harsh conditions, they had to find alternative ways to free the soul from the flesh. Perhaps this shared challenge explains the striking similarity between these distant yet comparable rituals.

The Hounds of Hell — Many remains of buried dogs have been found in the terp soils, indicating that these animals had a special place within the community. The size of the dogs was significant. The dog burials at Hogebeintum and Oosterbeintum in the province of Friesland were dogs that stood 70 centimeters at the withers (see categories 2 and 3, below). The modern dog that comes closest is the Irish wolfhound. That dog is about 80 centimeters high. A dog the colonists of America took with them to fight wolves in the seventeenth century (Smeyers 2023).

These big dogs are not comparable with the much smaller typical Frisian dog breeds today, the Frisian wetterhoun 'water hound' with its curly coat (see image below), and the (rare) Stabyhoun. Maybe their eyes still give away some of their ancestors.

The fact that the big dogs were buried on their own, and, therefore, not placed together in a grave of a human, is very exceptional when compared to other cultures. The late eighth-century law codex Lex Frisionum distinguished no less than five types of dogs and the corresponding tariffs to be paid when the animals were killed.

The five categories of dogs were: (1) a lap dog or barmbraccum 'hunting dog'. Possibly ancestor of the havikshond or Münsterländer breeds; (2) a dog that kills wolves; (3) a dog that can wound wolves; (4) a guard dog for livestock, and; (5) a dog that does nothing but hanging around in the hall or on the farm. It is thought that the big dogs might also have played a role in warfare as battle dogs. Fines for killing these dogs were: 4 solidi for category 1 dogs; 3 solidi for category 2 dogs; 2 solidi for category 3 dogs; 1 solidus for category 4 dogs, and: 1 tremissis for category 5 dogs.

The dog has the wolf as its origin. The wolf fulfilled an important role in European societies. It was praised for its strength and ferocity, explaining why many Germanic names have the element wolf in them. At the same time, the wolf was feared and associated with darkness and the Devil. See our blog post Who's afraid of Voracious Woolf?—the Dread Beast is Back.

A bit more on cremation: if you want to fully burn a human body, oak is essential. It takes roughly 200 to 300 kilograms of it to complete a cremation (Nieuwhof 2020). That is a substantial amount. Traditional fuels on the tidal marshlands—such as dried peat and cow dung—simply could not generate enough heat to do the job. They were the everyday fuels, but not suitable for cremation. Archaeologists have even found traces of failed cremation attempts in the present-day province of Groningen—possibly early experiments inspired by Roman funerary customs.

Because oak had to be transported from far inland, obtaining enough of it was a major undertaking. As a result, cremation was reserved for special occasions or exceptional individuals. One notable exception was the cremation of Prince Hnaef of the Hocings, a Danish people, around the year 450. Hnaef was slain at the (former) mouth of the River Rhine in Frisia and burned on a funeral pyre, as recounted in the Old English epic poem Beowulf. To learn more about this royal funeral, read our blog post Tolkien Pleaded in Favour of King Finn: An Immortalized Royal Tragedy.

Since cremation was not really an option—and simply leaving the body out in the salt marshes does not exactly offer the guarantees you might want when it comes to your mother-in-law—something a bit more fool proof is needed. The answer? Bury the body. The location does not really matter. What does matter is this: you either bury some of the limbs separately from the body, or you bind the limbs together. It may sound harsh, but trust us—it works like a charm.

If you decide to tie her up, you have got a few options. Binding the arms is a good start—it will keep her from wagging a ghostly finger at you for not doing the dishes. Want a bit more peace of mind? Tie her legs too. That way, if she does try to come back, at least you can outrun her. But if you are aiming for absolute certainty that she will not meddle in the affairs of the living, go the extra mile: bury one or more limbs separately. Drastic? Maybe. Effective? Absolutely.

The least invasive—but surprisingly effective—method is to separate a foot from the body and bury it about a meter away from the grave (see picture below). Just make sure she cannot reach her foot with her arms—would not want her piecing herself back together like a creepy jigsaw puzzle. This way, she stays put where she is buried, and you get to relax in peace.

As a final extra step—on top of everything else—you can dig a ditch around your house and property. Think of the water in those grooves as a spooky moat, separating the scary outside world from your peaceful inner world or sanctuary. To boost the ditch’s supernatural powers, toss in some human bones from your ‘good and jolly’ ancestors. And if you really want to up the ante, tie a new born lamb to a clay sod nearby—ancient Frisians swore it strengthened the protective shield. Circular trenches like these were even dug around early-medieval burial fields in the region—probably to keep restless spirits inside where they belong. If you are feeling inspired to make your own mystical grooves, check out our blog post Groove is in the Hearth. Very superstition, is the way.

Finally, have some well deserved peace!

More morbid precautions

Funerals in the north of the Netherlands, that is, in the former region of Frisia, retained some ancient pre-Christian rituals until quite recently. Chief among these were processions in which the deceased was carried along a path encircling the graveyard — often making a full circuit three times with the coffin. This practice may have originated as a rite of passage, marking the transition of the deceased from the world of the living to that of the dead. Alternatively, it might have served to confuse the soul, preventing it from finding its way back to the living world. Even today, it is not uncommon for mourners to make such rounds around the church with the deceased.

In the town of Zaandam, in the province of Noord Holland, stands perhaps the most ingenious church ever designed to trick the Devil, preventing it from getting its hand on the soul of the deceased. When the body of a deceased person is carried inside, the Devil usually does not dare to enter the church—too holy a place for it. So, it waits outside for the funeral procession to leave again. But the Westerzijdekerk in Zaandam has a secret: a special back exit made just for the dead. This way, the soul of the deceased can slip out safely. So, fooling the Devil, waiting until Doomsday for the soul to appear again. Clever people in Zaandam.

Furthermore, the graveyard itself. To this very day, these are often surrounded by a ditch, hedges, and a fence. Besides that, at the entrance fence, a cattle grid was placed on the path. All these measures make it impossible for the dead to check out from the hereafter. At the same time, these obstacles prevent the so-called Man of Wealth and Taste from entering the graveyard. The cattle grid makes it impossible for the Devil to cross since, as we all know of course, it has the slim legs of a goat. Read also our post When the Gate of Hell opened at the Golden Necklace where the Devil was recognized by its goat legs in a tavern in the port of Harlingen.

All these defensive measures around the graveyard were sometimes complemented by a rotating fence called a kjirrewirre in the Mid Frisian language. These rotating fences, or rotating crosses, turn counter-clockwise—something the Devil apparently cannot do, as it can only pass objects moving clockwise. You can find them in the graveyards of the villages of Kimswerd and Stiens in the province of Friesland. Additionally, the funeral procession would enter the church through the northern door—the side associated with darkness, evil, and the Devil—and exit through the southern door, symbolizing the sun and Christianity. Remarkably, examples of these ancient practices can still be found in the north of the Netherlands today.

Finally, a bit of morbid practice which, as far as we know, is not being practiced anymore, is the following.

Infants who died before being baptized could not be buried in the consecrated ground of a Catholic graveyard. As a result, they were buried just outside the graveyard’s boundaries. To ensure their bodies—or spirits—stayed put, a stake was driven through the child’s body into the soil. Later, when this practice fell out of favour—or perhaps when volunteers to perform this vampire-like ritual became somehow scarce—the remains of these unbaptized infants were placed in pots and set next to the church’s northern exterior wall. Though not interred in sacred soil, they were at least kept under the protection of the graveyard and church. And with rainwater falling from the holy roof of the church onto the pots, they were considered baptized after all. At the old churches of Harich, Oudemirdum, Rottum, and Tjerkgaast, pots containing the bones of these infants dating from the twelfth and thirteenth centuries have been found.

If interested in more old and obscure rituals and practices, you should also read our post Groove is in the Hearth. Very superstitious, is the way.

Note 1 — Main source on the burial practices at the salt marshes in the Late Iron Age: Nieuwhof, A., Eight human skulls in a dung heap and more. Ritual practices in the terp region of northern Netherlands (2015).

Note 2 — In the region of Ostfriesland several sagas exist about black hounds appearing as ghosts or being the Devil (Siefkes 1963). Take, for example, the sagas: Die beiden Pudel, Der Pudel vom Diekhof, Der schwarze Hund von Oldehafe, Der Höllenhund bei Esens, Der schwarze Hund von Uphusen, Der Höllenhund bei Loga, and Der Hund bei Strackholt.