Texte pour une plaque funéraire

A headstone inscription is cut into the stone: permanent, charged by the character, decided by whoever holds the right of burial, and limited by the face of the memorial. A plaque is something brought and left — given by one person or by a group, fixed to the grave, a bench or a memorial wall, and replaceable. The wording follows from that: a plaque speaks to the person from its first line and is signed on its last by whoever gives it, where an inscription stays in the third person and signs nothing. A plaque can carry feeling; an inscription carries restraint.

One line above the signature, in the great majority of cases. On a plaque of 20 by 30 centimetres, once a motif and a signature are placed, there is rarely room for more. Three or four lines work on a larger plate, or when the plaque is the only text on the grave. This tool writes both lengths and gives you the character count of each — that is the unit engravers charge by, and the only figure worth comparing before you order.

Almost always, yes, and it does not come from the same place twice. Council cemeteries and churchyards each set their own rules on what may be placed on a grave: size, material, how it is fixed, and how long it may stay. Where the plaque is fixed to the memorial itself rather than laid on the grave, the holder of the exclusive right of burial has to agree as well. Ask the cemetery office, or the parish, before you order anything — a plaque refused on site is a plaque paid for twice.

The people who give it, on the last line: “Your children”, “Your grandchildren”, “Your colleagues”, “Everyone at the bowls club”. That is what separates a plaque from an inscription — it comes from someone, and it says so. An unsigned plaque leaves a visitor with no idea where the tribute came from, and the family with no idea whom to thank. The tool proposes the signature of the group you chose, and you can rewrite it word for word — which is what you will want to do if your group has a name.

No. Every line comes from a template written by hand, and what you type — the name, the words you keep, the dates, the signature — is copied exactly, never rewritten. Nothing is invented about the person who died. That is what makes the result predictable: a text meant to be engraved cannot contain an approximation, because it cannot be corrected afterwards.

Because a single suggestion gets copied out as it is, and that is how plaques end up sounding alike. The three say the same thing three ways: the plainest, the one that says who they were, and the one that speaks to them directly. Comparing them — their tone, and their character count — is what makes you choose, and choosing is already making the text your own.