One of the most interesting places we go to in Afghanistan is the British Cemetery. Located in the centre of Kabul, it is a small oasis in the middle of chaos. We obviously spend a lot of time in the car and rushing from place to place, but this is a chance to stretch the legs and enjoy a nice breather while learning a little more about the unique history of the place.
The graves of local expats, foreign tourists, missionaries and the like all sit in rows, while monuments to foreign fallen soldiers, from the Anglo-Afghan wars to the recent NATO/ISAF mission in Afghanistan, line the perimeter of the small compound reminding all who visit of the sad history of this wonderful country.
One tomb stone is of particular interest, firstly because it no longer marks a grave site, but rather is standing up against the wall in one of the corners, and secondly because this man's name stands out immediately – Billy Batman.
Born William Joseph Jahrmarkt, Billy Batman died in 1972 in Kabul. Apparently he died when he dropped his gun and accidentally shot himself. A poem was written by one of his friends years later:
"And Billy Batman, who made the best hash in the world,
he dropped a loaded pistol in Kabul, shot himself in the balls,
took some heroin and lay down to die."
He got the nickname Billy Batman as a child simply due to the fact he loved reading Batman comics and would spend all day engrossed in the antics of the American superhero.
On his grave is written “Billy Batman loves Joan, Hassan, Caldoania and Digger”. This was his wife Joan and their 3 children. The last of which, Digger, shares his name with the improv/alternative theatre in San Francisco that Billy Batman was a member of, called the Diggers. While in San Francisco, he also owned an art gallery, called the Batman gallery, and was famous for presenting alternative art. Unfortunately this enterprise didn't last long due to Billy's drug use.
And drugs is what he would ultimately be famous for. Billy made his first trips to Afghanistan in the 1950s and is credited with introducing the first ever hash to the United States. Apparently he had a special technique to make it which included a hammer and two vinyl records. I can't really get my head around it to understand how it works, but that’s how the legend goes. He got involved with beatniks like Alan Ginsburg and William Burroughs, supplying hash to the great jazz musicians of the time and generally was the man to know.
In 1969, he moved him and his family to Kabul to live permanently, becoming the king and queen of the local expat scene. He could be found smoking on the grass as a buzkashi match was being played, or wandering the antique shops of Chicken Street. Then as the poem you've read described, he shot himself and rather than seeking medical help, he took some heroin and lay down to die. Now his grave is permanently in Kabul, the place he loved so much.
Afghanistan is such a unique and mesmerising place that throughout the years it has attracted some of the best and brightest, the weird and wonderful, the dangerous and deceitful and every other character in between. You might feel it calling you, and if it is, why not join us on one of our trips? Contact us for more information or to book your place on an Afghanistan tour .
