Sifting through the stories about the London Stone

Like many of the sites and objects detailed in this blog, it's quite possible to walk past the London Stone and never realise that it is there.  It's easy to miss the grate pictured below, which is situated at street level on the front of a nondescript modern building on Cannon Street in the City of London.

Behind this grate is the mysterious London Stone

The London Stone has a long and singularly odd history, with its origins shrouded in legends, fairytales and hearsay.  Similar to the superstition surrounding the ravens of the Tower of London, a saying goes that "So long as the Stone of Brutus is safe, so will London flourish."  However, like the ravens, it is likely that this romantic myth dates from the Victorian period, although both superstitions still persist today.

A 16th-century representation of Brutus of Troy (Wikimedia Commons)

The "Brutus" named in the saying is the legendary figure Brutus of Troy, a mythical founder of London.  Brutus is purported to be a Classical hero, who defeated a race of giants and founded London, becoming King of Britain.  This legend was first recorded in the 9th Century and made famous in the 12th Century by Geoffrey of Monmouth's Historia Regum Britainniae.  According to Geoffrey, Brutus built a temple of Diana on the site now occupied by St Paul's Cathedral and the London Stone was an altar in this temple.  Whatever ruins do lie beneath St Paul's (another theory about the Stone is that it came from a stone circle on Ludgate Hill) it is unlikely that the story of Brutus is anything but myth.  Brutus' Classical origins suggest an attempt at creating a link between Britain and Classical civilisation and indeed there are no records of Brutus of Troy in surviving Classical texts.

Another theory about the Stone's origin is that in Roman London it was used as the point from which all distances were measured - a milliarium, although no surviving Roman records made any reference to such a thing in London.  Given that such objects were used by the Romans, though, the lack of any surviving records cannot be seen as confirmation that the Stone was not Roman in origin.

But what do we know for certain about the Stone?

The earliest known written reference to the London Stone is in a document referring to rental properties and (like the Roman milliarium theory) their distances from the London Stone.  This document belonged to Æthelstan, a king of the West Saxons in the 10th Century.  So regardless of whether or not the theory about the Stone being a Roman milliarium is correct, there is proof that the Stone was, for some of its life at least, used as a point from which to measure distance.  By the late 12th Century, "Londenstane" began to appear on maps, suggesting that the Stone was a significant landmark at this time.  Interestingly, the first Mayor of London, who entered office in 1189, was called Henry Fitz-Ailwin de Londonestone.  The inclusion of "Londonestone" in his name may be as innocuous as simply a reference to the part of town his family was from but again suggests that the Stone was a well known landmark.

In the medieval period, the Stone made an appearance during a tumultuous episode in London's history.  During a rebellion against Henry VI in 1450, the rebel leader Jack Cade allegedly struck the Stone with his sword and proclaimed himself mayor of the City.  Shakespeare immortalised this act is his play Henry VI, Part 2.

Now is Mortimer lord of this city. And here, sitting
upon London-stone, I charge and command that, of the
city's cost, the pissing-conduit run nothing but

claret wine this first year of our reign. And now
henceforward it shall be treason for any that calls
me other than Lord Mortimer.

(Act 4, Scene 6)

In 1598, John Stow's famous "Survey of London" described how the Stone often got in the way of everyday life in London.  "If carts do run against it through negligence, the wheels be broken, and the stone itself unshaken."  It is perhaps at least partly due to these collisions that the Stone gradually became smaller over the years.  John Strype, in the 1720 version of his "Survey of the Cities of London and Westminster" commented that "this stone before the Fire of London, was much worn away, and as it were but a stump remaining.  But it is now for the Preservation of it cased over with a new Stone handsomely wrought, out hollow underneath so as the old Stone may be seen, the new one being over it, to shelter and defend the old venerable one" (Book 2, Chapter 13, p.200, paragraph 9)

After the Great Fire of 1666, Christopher Wren witnessed the Stone's foundation being excavated during the rebuilding of St Swithin's Church in 1678.  From what he saw, Wren speculated that the Stone was part of a larger Roman structure.  It is indeed possible that this is the origin of the Stone, as archaeologists excavating the site after the Second World War found evidence of a Roman street running along the line of the present Cannon Street.

This image of St Swithin's, Cannon Street, shows the London Stone set into the wall beneath the largest window

As London grew and became even busier, the Stone's location in the middle of Cannon Street started to become problematic.  Despite it being protected by the new stone casing that Strype describes, the Stone was hazardous to traffic (as Stow had described in 1598) and was moved on more than one occasion, first in 1742 and again in 1798 when it was set into the wall of the nearby St Swithin's church.  A grille was put in place in front of the Stone in the 19th Century for protection.  This might have been how the Stone would have remained until the present day, but during the Second World War St Swithin's was hit during an air raid and completely gutted.

The Stone was not destroyed and it was preserved in the ruins of St Swithin's until the church was demolished in 1961-2.  Following this, the Stone was installed in its present position in a rather gloomy building that was erected on the site of St Swithin's. The grey concrete does not seem fitting for an artefact with such a colourful history.

It's impossible to prove very much about the London Stone.  For centuries it has puzzled and enthralled Londoners and it's possible that somewhere amid the all the rumours there may be some grains of truth about its origins and purpose.  Even today, when the future of the building that houses it is called into question, furious debates take place about what should happen to the Stone.  Whatever it really is, the London Stone has been part of the fabric of London for a very long time and will very likely continue to inspire stories, legends and tales in years to come.

Book review: The Pantomime Life of Joseph Grimaldi by Andrew McConnell Stott

This book opens with the author, Andrew Stott, observing one of London’s most eccentric sights – the annual memorial service to Joseph Grimaldi held in Holy Trinity Church, Dalston, and attended by dozens of clowns in full regalia.  But who was Joseph Grimaldi?  Born in 1778, he was the first son of Joseph Giuseppe Grimaldi, better known as “the Signor”, an entertainer with a violent, unpredictable streak and an unhealthy obsession with death.

The Signor wished his son to follow in his footsteps onto the stage, and young Joe made his theatre debut as a toddler.  He had a wretched childhood, as the Signor was a domineering and abusive parent, regularly beating Joe (even on stage) and forcing him to train and work for long hours.  Stott shows us the dark side of theatre in this period – the many children working in theatres not only had to work long hours in poor and dangerous conditions, but many were also abused – verbally, physically and sexually.  With this atmosphere of exploitation and violence, it is easy to see why Joe later chose to keep his own son away from the theatre until he was in his late teens.

After the Signor’s death, Joe became the main breadwinner for his family and Stott documents the difficult path Joe took to eventual stardom, eventually making the pantomime role of Clown his own – he expanded the role from a simple buffoon to the clown character that we recognise today, complete with face paint and brightly coloured hair.

Sadly, despite his success on the stage, Joe’s personal life was filled with tragedy, mental illness and disability.  Stott does not seek to retrospectively diagnose Joe with any specific illnesses, but mentions the bouts of melancholy that often struck – ironically – at the times of Joe’s greatest successes.  The physical demands of Joe’s pantomime roles also took their toll, causing him to age prematurely and spend his final years as a cripple.  Stott identifies the contrast between Joe’s stage persona and his personal life as the birth of the idea of the tragic clown.

Stott’s biography not only tells us Joe’s story but also immerses the reader in the colourful, chaotic world of the theatre in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries.  As well as enlightening the reader about pantomime in this period (which was quite different from the pantomimes performed today), Stott includes takes of bankrupt theatre owners, vengeful set builders and a colourful array of actors, singers and acrobats and their exploits.  At times, however, it feels as though this narrative can overwhelm Joe’s story.  Many of the anecdotes are interesting and sometimes hilarious, but at times it can feel difficult to keep up with all the names, theatres and incidents that are described in detail and that are often unrelated to Joe’s life.

This is a minor quibble, however.  The Pantomime Life of Joseph Grimaldi is a fascinating biography, one that will appeal to fans of theatre history and comedy, and even just those interested in the history of London in general.

The Pantomime Life of Joseph Grimaldi: Laughter, Madness and the Story of Britain’s Greatest Comedian, by Andrew McConnell Scott, Canongate Books

A rather unusual eulogy on a gravestone in Fulham

The churchyard at All Saints, Fulham deserves an entire blogpost to itself - it's the resting place of many Bishops of London, in their elaborate tombs, and also contains many crumbling and wonderfully morbid 18th Century headstones decorated with skulls and hourglasses.  It's also the location for the scene in the classic horror film The Omen, where Patrick Troughton's priest is impaled by a lightning rod during a storm.

The grave of Isabella and Joseph Murr

However, whilst exploring this wonderful and incredibly interesting graveyard I came across a headstone that I felt deserved a little blog post of its own.  In many ways it is quite unremarkable - a tall headstone from the early nineteenth century, inscribed with the name of Isabella Murr, a local woman who died in 1829.  Her grieving husband Joseph provided a eulogy that was inscribed on the stone.

Ye who possess the greatest charms of life

A tender friend - a kind indulgent wife

Oh learn their worth! In her beneath this stone

These pleasing attributes together shone

Was not true happiness with them combin'd?

Ask the spoiled being she has left behind

We do not know when the "spoiled being", Joseph Murr, died - the only words on the bottom half of the gravestone are as follows:

Presumably Joseph, or whoever chose this inscription, had a sense of humour.  It's a rare thing to find in a graveyard, but I am sure that in the 200 years since this stone was placed here, this inscription has raised a few laughs. 

The Hill of Bones: the story of Bunhill Fields

Originally a stretch of open land to the north of the City of London, Bunhill Fields got its name from its use as a burial ground during the Saxon period and a macabre event that took place in the mid-sixteenth century.  Cartloads of bones from the charnel house at St Paul's Cathedral were transported out of the city and dumped in such large quantities that they formed a hill of bones, with a thin layer of soil covering the mound.  This "Bone Hill" was large enough to accomodate three windmills on top, which were presumably installed to make the most of the elevated ground.

 

The charnel house at St Paul's had been used since the 13th Century to store old bones disturbed by later burials.  During this period the concept of purgatory had become an official part of Church doctrine and it became acceptable to disinter human remains when no flesh remained on the skeleton, as it was believed that the soul only remained with the body as long as there was flesh on the bones (cremation was not authorised for Christians at this time).  This had a useful practical application as old graves could be reused for new burials, freeing up space in churchyards. The dry bones removed from old graves were then stored in charnel houses and this practice continued in Britain until the Reformation.  After the Reformation, the use of charnel houses was seen as Popish so most of them were demolished and their contents removed, which helps to explain why the human remains were removed from St Paul's and taken to Bunhill Fields.

In 1665, a century or so after the Bone Hill was created, Bunhill Fields was given authorisation to be used as a plague pit.  Thousands were dying of plague in London and the rural location of Bunhill Fields, only a short distance north of the city, made it an idea location for mass burials.  However, it is unclear whether the site was ever used as a plague pit.  It is also unclear what became of the bones from the charnel house of St Paul's.  The land passed into private hands in the 1660s and burials began in what was referred to as "Tindal's Burial Ground" after Mr Tindal, who had taken over the lease of the land.  As the burial ground was not associated with an Anglican church, it became popular with Nonconformists - those Christians who did not belong to the Church of England.  A separate burial ground for Quakers was also opened close to Bunhill Fields in 1661 - sadly today very little of it remains due to severe bomb damage during the Second World War.

Throughout the 17th, 18th and 19th centuries Bunhill Fields became the major burial ground for London's Nonconformists.  Robert Southey, a 19th century poet, described it as "the Campo Santo of the Dissenters" as so many influential Nonconformists and their families were laid to rest there.  Isaac Watts, a celebrated hymnwriter, is buried in Bunhill Fields, as is preacher and pamphleteer Richard Price, and Thomas Newcomen, a preacher and early developer of steam engines.  The mother of John Wesley, the founder of the Methodist movement, is also buried in Bunhill Fields, as is a grandson of Oliver Cromwell and the grandfather of JRR Tolkien.  The most prominent memorials today are of the famous literary figures of Daniel Defoe, John Bunyan and William Blake.

 

Daniel Defoe (yep, two blog posts in the same week featuring the same bloke) is most famous for writing the novels Robinson Crusoe and Moll Flanders, but during a prolific career also produced a great deal of pamphlets and non-fiction as well as his famous, pioneering novels.  It is thought that when he died in 1731, Defoe was on the run from his creditors.  In 1870, the imposing obelisk memorial to Defoe (pictured above) was unveiled.  It was funded by an appeal in the weekly newspaper Christian World.

John Bunyan, author of the famous allegorical novel The Pilgrim's Progress, also has an impressive memorial at Bunhill Fields.  Bunyan was a popular preacher, and found himself imprisoned twice for illegally preaching in the years when it was still against the law to belong to a church other than the official Church of England.  The Pilgrim's Progress, which was probably written during his periods of imprisonment, was published in 1678 and has never been out of print since.  His impressive memorial, featuring a carved effigy of Bunyan and images representing scenes from The Pilgrim's Progress, dates from 1862.

William Blake was an artist and poet, who spent most of his life in London.  During his lifetime he was considered to be mad, but today he is regarded as one of Britain's greatest artists and poets, and his work continues to have a considerable influence on popular culture.  One of his most enduringly famous works is And did those feet in ancient time, which was adapted into the popular hymn "Jerusalem".  It is uncertain exactly where Blake's grave lies, as gravestones were moved around when the site was remodelled in the 1960s.  None were present when I visited Bunhill Fields to take photographs for this blog post, but Blake's grave is often adorned with trinkets and flowers left by his fans.

In 1853, Bunhill Fields was deemed to be full, having received around 120,000 burials since the 1660s.  Around this time, churchyards and older burial grounds were being closed and large, suburban cemeteries were being planned and laid out.  The last burial in Bunhill Fields took place in January 1854.

After the cemetery's closure, Bunhill Fields was designated as a public park and underwent some remodelling in the late 1860s.  Some memorials were removed and many were restored or relocated.  The main centre for Nonconformist burials shifted to Abney Park Cemetery in Stoke Newington, one of the new cemeteries that made up London's "Magnificent Seven".  Charles Reed, a directer of Abney Park, was also involved with the preservation of Bunhill Fields and its conversaion to a public garden.

Bunhill Fields as we see it today is a postwar creation - heavy bombing during the Second World War prompted major landscaping work and the northern part of the burial ground was cleared of its memorials, leaving a large grassy area lined with benches, which is popular with workers on their lunchbreaks.  The areas containing tightly packed gravestones were fenced off to protect the monuments, and many new trees were planted.  Today, the City of London Corporation is making effors to improve the biodiversity of the area by encouraging wildlife and wild flowers to thrive in the burial ground.  The peace and the abundance of plant and animal life make a contrast with the office blocks and busy roads nearby.

In 2011, Bunhill Fields was designated as a Grade I listed cemetery, affording it special protection.  In addition to this, 75 individual monuments are also Grade II listed, and Bunyan and Defoe's memorials are Grade II* listed.  Due to the large number of Nonconformist burials on the site, most of the gravestones are fairly plain and austere, and many of them have become worn and illegible over the years.  The gravestones are huddled much closer together in Bunhill Fields which gives it a different feel to big Victorian cemeteries such as Abney Park or Kensal Rise, which were intended from the beginning to serve as parks as well as burial grounds.  Bunhill Fields is quite a unique spot - and it is quite mind-boggling to think that 120,000 people are buried on such a small site.

 

Bunhill Fields is located between City Road and Bunhill Row in London EC1 (the nearest tube stations are Moorgate and Old Street), and it is open all year round.  Information about guided tours and access to the fenced-off areas can be found at http://www.cityoflondon.gov.uk/things-to-do/green-spaces/city-gardens/visitor-information/Pages/Bunhill-Fields.aspx

The Great Storm of 1703: Eyewitness accounts of the worst storm in England's history

On Monday 28th October 2013, much of southern England woke to howling winds, uprooted trees,  damaged buildings and transport chaos.  The St Jude storm (28th October is the feast day of St Jude, patron saint of hopeless cases) had been forecast, and warnings about its destructive nature widely distributed.  News programmes on the television showed the area of low pressure heading towards the UK, fire brigades used Twitter to give people advice on avoiding damage and loss during the storm, and the hashtag #ukstorm was born.  As the storm blew through and left a trail of fallen trees and damaged property in its wake, the internet buzzed with pictures of damage, eyewitness accounts and updates on travel disruption.  A number of people were tragically killed in England and mainland Europe and parts of the transport network were brought to a near standstill.

BBC News homepage, 28th October 2013, showing a wide range of multimedia coverage and analysis of the St Jude storm.

In 1703, the people of England did not have such sophisticated methods of forecasting bad weather or of quickly informing the general public of the danger they faced.  And the storm that first hit the British Isles on 24th November 1703 was quite possibly worst ever recorded on these shores, causing enormous death and destruction both on land and at sea - it was estimated that one fifth of the sailors in the Queen's Navy were drowned in the storm.  The storm raged for about a week, reaching a ferocious peak on the night of the 28th/29th November, demolishing buildings, uprooting trees and sinking ships.  Thousands of people died and the Eddystone Lighthouse was swept away. Unsurpringly, in the aftermath of the storm a number of special newspapers and publications appeared carrying information and eyewitness accounts of the storm, making the disaster "national news" in a way that we would recognise today.

The most famous piece of work dealing with the storm - described as "the first substantial work of modern journalism" (source) - was The Storm by Daniel Defoe.  Today, Defoe is most famous for his fictional creation, Robinson Crusoe, but during his lifetime he was a prolific writer of both fiction and non-fiction.  The Storm, published in the summer of 1704, was compiled with the help of the eyewitness accounts of members of the public - an early attempt at crowdsourcing, one could argue.  In the immediate aftermath of the storm Defoe placed advertisements asking for people to send him reports of the storm from their local area.  Around sixty of the accounts Defoe received were subsequently incorporated into the book - providing us with a unique insight into this natural disaster.

Defoe had witnessed the effects of the storm in London and the surrounding area, but later chapters reproduced letters from members of the public describing the destruction and extraordinary events in their own areas.  Interestingly, a large number of the letters Defoe chose to print were from clergymen or other individuals closely connected with the Church - perhaps the reasoning behind this was that such people were seen to be trustworthy and truthful in their accounts of the storm.

Three gentlemen in Stowmarket, Suffolk, describe in meticulous detail the fine church spire that had been destroyed by the storm, noting its impressive proportions before its destruction and providing an equally detailed description of the damage it sustained.  Mr Joseph Ralton describes what appears to be a tornado, a "spout" in the air, in Berkshire, and mentions the discovery of a man believed to have been "knocked down" by the spout and injured.  Other accounts describe the loss of orchards, crops and livestock - all of which must have had a terrible impact on the affected communities.

The St Jude storm of 2013 has been dubbed "Stormageddon" by some on the internet, mostly due to the level of coverage it received, but this moniker might have been better suited to the events of 1703.  An undertone of supersition and fear of God's judgement runs through many of the accounts, and indeed Defoe chose to include the following quote from the Book of Nahum on the front page of The Storm: "The Lord hath his way in the Whirlwind, and in the Storm, and the Clouds are the dust of his Feet."  Phrases such as "it pleased God to preserve her" are common both in the letters and in Defoe's prose.

However, Defoe also went to great lengths to research possible explanations for the storm - the eighteenth centry did, after all, usher in the Age of Enlightenment, with its emphasis on rational and scientific thought above religion and superstition.  Defoe's work does not succeed in separating religious explanations from scientific ones, but is more an attempt to figure out why and how God would create such a tempest.  The first two chapters of The Storm attempt to explain how storms form, with quotes from "philosophers" (as scientists were then referred to), with an emphasis on previous research that attempted to explain why the British Isles were particularly prone to violent storms.

Defoe's conclusion is ultimately religious in tone, rather than scientific.  "From this I draw only this conclusion, that the winds are a part of the works of God by nature, in which he has been pleased to communicate less of demonstration to us than in other cases; that the particulars more directly lead us to speculations, and refer us to infinite power more than the other parts of nature does."  Although barometers for measuring atmospheric pressure existed at this time - Defoe himself owned one and refers to it in The Storm - science had not yet been able to provide a full explanation of why and how such a powerful and destructive storm had formed.   In the absence of such knowledge, it is understandable that the storm was described as an act of God rather than a meteorological event.

Another written source of eyewitness accounts, An Exact Relation of the Late Dreadful Tempest, was printed in London in 1704 and was "Faithfully collected by an Ingenious Hand, to preserve the Memory of so Terrible a Judgment."  Unlike Defoe's work, this publication does not name its sources (even the author is anonymous), and it is possible that it may have been compiled from earlier news sheets printed in the more immediate aftermath of the storm.  It provides a particularly detailed - and often gruesome - account of the damage wrought in London during the storm, using dramatic language and making frequent references to the wrath of God.  It is a wonderful example of early sensational journalism.

"It was observed by several, that it was mixt with Lightning; and the extraordinary Rumbling, and Noise which was heard in the Air, with the violent Blasts, and Gusts of Wind, resembled the fall and rushing down of Waters with great Impetuosity."

The dramatic escape of Queen Anne and members of her household is recounted, along with a detailed description of the damage to St James' Palace and other buildings around St James' Park, Whitehall and Westminster.  Part of the Tower of London, "which had been very remarkable ever since the Days of King William II", was blown down.  Several hundred boats were damaged, sunk or blown ashore in the area around the Pool of London ( the area immediately downstream from London Bridge), with many people being drowned.

Many Londoners were killed in the storm - from this account it appears that collapsing chimneys and walls were the most common cause of death and serious injury.  Mr Mias, a distiller living near Piccadilly, and his maidservant were killed by a falling chimney, as were two boys sheltering near Hatton Garden.  A number of other people, including a priest and his wife, narrowly escaped the same fate.

Also included is a disturbing account of an infant crushed by a falling chimney while its parents, only a yard or so away, watched in horror.  "From hence we may observe, That even Innocency, in a general Calamity, suffers with the Guilty; and the poor Babe is destroyed by Stroke of Divine Vengeance, whilst the sinful Parents are permitted to stretch out their Lives to a longer Date."  Such comments reinforced the belief that the storm was an act of God.

Not all of the incidents are quite so harrowing, though.  "An Accident, worthy of remembrance, happened to one Mr. Hempson, lying next the Roof in Bell-Savage Inn, near Ludgate-hill; the same being blown down, he was carried to the Ground without any hurt; and, as he declares, knew nothing of the Storm, till he found himself lying on his Bed in the open Street. How extraordinary an Accident was this! And how ought that Gentleman to contemplate and weigh with himself the eminent Danger the Hand of Heaven has preserved him from, when nothing but Death was to be expected!"

These documents provide a valuable insight not just into the events of the storm itself, but also into the fears and superstitions of the people affected by the disaster, and how they attempted to explain such a horrific event, adding a fascinating social history angle to one of the worst natural disasters ever to befall the British Isles.

Skulls, astrologers and the sands of time: a Georgian graveyard in South West London

One of the best things about living in London is the great potential for discovering wonderful places completely by accident. In this instance, I was required to go to Mortlake to pick up a parcel from the sorting office that had been too big to fit through my letterbox.  Whilst walking up Mortlake High Street my eye was caught by some worn old gravestones peeping out through bushes and shrubs.

This graveyard belongs to the Anglican church of St Mary the Virgin, pictured below.

The St Mary's we see today was built in 1543, replacing an earlier church that had been situated nearby.  Only the tower survives from the 16th Century, and major alterations were made to the church in the 19th and 20th Centuries.  The church interior, pictured below, dates from the early 20th Century.

Some of these memorials look as though they were once situated inside the church, before it was renovated in the early 20th Century.

The churchyard, however, mostly contains gravestones from the Georgian period, from about 1715, with the most recent graves dating from the early Victorian period.  The Burials Act of 1851 closed London's ancient churchyards and from then onwards the residents of Mortlake had to be buried elsewhere.

A number of my previous blog posts have focused on 19th Century graveyards, and the funerary symbolism used in this period, much of which invoked Roman urns, clasped hands, broken pillars and extinguished torches.  Many of these symbols had their origins in the Classical period.  Earlier gravestones, however, use different images and probably the most distinctive of these is the skull, or death's head, an obvious signifier of death.  Some more examples of death head symbolism on gravestones can be found here.

The monument pictured above also depicts what appears to be a book, which may signify knowledge, or perhaps the Bible. 

Time waits for no man

The gravestone pictured above shows another symbol of mortality - the hourglass.

So why are the symbols on 18th Century graves so different to those on Victorian graves?  In the Victorian period death became a money-spinning industry, with grand memorials, specially laid out cemeteries and ostentatious funeral processions becoming popular amongst the moneyed.  Death was dressed up and became an event - look at the way that black mourning clothes and black-edged writing paper became important and very visual parts of mourning.  At the same time, the symbols used to represent death became more distant - no more scary signifiers of mortality such as skulls, bones or ominous signs of time passing.  This in part reflected differing fashions and tastes in the Victorian period, with grand Gothic and Classical images becoming common in the new burial grounds that opened after inner city churchyards were shut.

The poor, of course, continued to be buried in common graves with no memorial or perhaps a small, simple stone.  Dotted around old graveyards are little headstones adorned only with a set of initials and dates of birth and death.  The graves of non-conformist believers have also traditionally been more austere.

The earliest known tombstone in the graveyard at St Mary's is that of the astrologer John Partridge.  Partridge was born in East Sheen, not far from Mortlake, and after initially starting a career as a shoemaker he studied in Holland and became an astrologer, having learned Latin, Greek and Hebrew.  He wished to see the Arabic influences astrology - which had become widespread in Europe during the Renaissance - removed and sought a return to Ptolemy's principles of astrology.

Although Partridge wrote a number of books of his own, he is best known through the words of his enemies.  A committed Whig and sceptical of the Church, Partridge was known to predict the deaths of those whose opinions on religion and politics he disagreed with.  This made him unpopular, and his astrology was suspected of being quackery.  In 1708 this came to the attention of Jonathan Swift, the Irish cleric best known for writing Gulliver's Travels, and writing under the pseudonym Isaac Bickerstaff Swift mockingly predicted that Partridge would die on 29th March 1708.  On this date, he wrote another letter claiming that Partridge had died.  Partridge, very much alive, angrily refuted the claims but continued to be ridiculed, with Swift commenting that "they were sure no man alive ever to writ such damned stuff as this."  Swift even penned a eulogy for Partridge:

Here five foot deep lyes on his back
A cobbler, starmonger, and quack…
Who to the stars in pure good-will,
Does to his best look upward still.
Weep all you customers that use
His pills, his almanacks or shoes.

Partridge died in 1714 or 1715, and little is known about his final years.  He is buried in the tomb pictured below, very close to the church building.

The picture below shows close-up of the cherubs on Partridge's tomb.  A skull is also visible at the bottom of the plaque - it is quite worn and covered in lichen, and its most distinctive features are the eye sockets and nasal cavity.  The large and relatively ornate nature of Partridge's tomb suggests that he either died quite wealthy, or had friends who were able to pay for a grand memorial.

St Mary's also has a connection with the more famous John Dee, the Elizabethan mathematician and magician who had a home in Mortlake close to St Mary's.  During Dee's time the boundaries between mathematics, science and magic were blurred, and - as this was the time before the frenzied witch hunts of the 17th Century - Dee enjoyed the patronage of a number of eminent Elizabethans, and even acted as advisor to Queen Elizabeth herself.   Dee travelled widely during his lifetime and kept his extensive library at his Mortlake home, a library which at the time was reckoned to be one of the greatest in the world.

John Dee

A history on the church's own website claims that Dee was buried in St Mary's after his death in 1608 or early 1609.  Dee died in poverty and relative obscurity, as James I's regime was unfriendly towards magic, and unfortunately no parish records of his death and burial survive, and there is no known gravestone.

If you look behind this tall monument, a low tomb to the right lies over a former Prime Minister.  (The reason why there isn't a proper picture of this tomb is because I read the little map in the churchyard wrong and took a picture of a different tomb close to that of the former PM.)  Henry Addington, 1st Viscount Sidmouth, was a Tory MP for Devizes and became Prime Minister in 1801 after William Pitt the Younger resigned.  By all accounts Addington was not an effective Prime Minister and he was ousted in 1804.  He did, however, live to the grand old age of 86, dying at the comfortable White Lodge in Richmond.

Probably the most distinctive feature of the churchyard is the picturesque archway in the middle.  This archway was originally part of the structure of the church, but was removed during rebuilding work in the 19th century and rebuilt in the churchyard, allegedly at the insistence of a parishoner.

Part of the churchyard is fenced off and designated as a "wild area", allowing plants and habitats for birds and insects to flourish. The whole churchyards is beautifully cared for by the Friends of Mortlake Churchyard, who have lovingly restored the graveyard after it became derelict.  More details about the Friends can be found under the "Churchyard" section of St Mary's website.

There is also a labyrinth on the side of the churchyard closes to Mortlake High Street.  The labyrinth, simply laid out with natural materials, is intended to be a space for quiet reflection.

The labyrinth consists of winding paths laid out around the gravestones

Finally, a little mystery.  I came across the following stone in the middle of the churchyard but couldn't find any information about it.  I have no idea of its date - it could possibly even be modern - but has anyone got any ideas of what it might symbolise?  My best guess is a green man, or perhaps a stone from the church building before it was restored.

Who am I?

A few more pictures...