I
have taken photos in St Mary’s Catholic Cemetery in Kensal Green on previous
occasions with no bother from anybody. I was crouching on a patch of gravel
trying to get a shot of a headless but otherwise well muscled St Michael flourishing
a broken sword to vanquish a dragon so diminutive that it could have been
crushed by one of his saintly sandaled feet. One of the grounds staff (they no longer
go by the evocative job title of gravedigger) stalked up behind me and demanded to
know if I was taking photographs. With a camera in my hand it was hard to do
anything but admit I was.
“Have
you spoken to Janice?” he asked. I had no idea who he was talking about. “Janice.
In the office….you have to speak to Janice, in the office, if you want to take
photos.” I climbed to my feet as he beckoned me to follow him.
The
office was a modernish brick annexe next to the Chapel. We both stood quietly
and politely at the wooden counter watching a woman, Janice no doubt, look
through some papers at her desk. When she finally glanced up, her colleague
nodded at me and quickly explained “he was taking photos but he hasn’t spoken to
you.” Message delivered he disappeared without waiting for a response. With
great reluctance Janice put down her papers and leisurely made her way over to
the counter.
“What
can I do for you?” she asked.
“I
was told to speak to you if I wanted to take photos of the cemetery.”
“Ahhh.
You want to take photos of the cemetery,” she eyed me distrustfully for a moment
and added “and why would you be wanting to take photos of the cemetery?”
“Err.
Because…because I’m interested in cemeteries?” I said, sounding unconvincing
even to myself.
“Because
you are interested in cemeteries is it? OK,” she regarded me doubtfully. “And
what will you be doing with these photos? You won’t be putting them on Facebook
will you?”
“Facebook?”
“Yes,
Facebook. You’ve heard of Facebook? Or Instagram? Letting other people see
them. Because that’s not allowed. Our customers don’t like it. They don’t want
to see the cemetery on Facebook.”
“I
don’t have a Facebook account,” I lied, “I won’t be posting anything about the
cemetery on Facebook.”
“Posting?
You won’t be posting anything? Are
you sure?”
“I’m
sure…” I’m nearly sixty but I felt myself blushing.
“OK,”
she said dubiously, “in that case you are allowed to take pictures. We get some
funny people coming here to take pictures,” she leaned over the counter
confidentially, “very funny people. Devil worshippers. They come here to take
pictures. And some men bring women with them and get them to take their clothes
off to pose on the graves or climbing up the trees.”
“I
haven’t brought any women with me,” I gushed with the relief of being able to
be truthful, “and I can definitely promise that I will be remaining fully clothed
for the whole time that I am here.”
She
looked disdainfully at me for moment. “You’re not funny you know,” she said before
dismissing me from her presence with a waft of her hand and turning away to walk back to her desk.
St
Mary’s catholic cemetery opened in 1858 on surplus ground purchased from the
General Cemetery Company next door at Kensal Green. It is one of only two
catholic cemeteries in London (the other is St Patrick’s in Leyton, opened 10
years later in 1868). Like St Patrick’s it has seen better days and is generally
looking a little rundown and tatty but it
resolutely remains a working cemetery. Both cemeteries are filled almost to
capacity (over 165,000 people are buried at St Mary’s in 29 acres, that is
1.375 corpses for every square meter of ground) and additional burial space has
been created by piling a six foot layer of earth on top of old common graves. The
resident population of St Patrick’s, being heavily dominated by the Irish and
Polish contingents of the catholic faithful, has only one, modern(ish – 1960’s)
mausoleum but St Mary’s, with its west London
bias towards the Mediterranean and Latin, has 23, some of them quite spectacular. I’ll
deal with the mausoleums of St Mary’s in a separate post. St Patrick’s is short
on celebrity burials but St Mary’s is packed with worthies and luminaries of
every stripe from Prince Louis Lucien Bonaparte, philologist nephew of
Napoleon, to Sax Rohmer the creator of
Dr Fu Manchu, to England’s most popular ever drag artist Danny La Rue
and Mary Seacole, the Jamaican born nurse who opened the British Hotel in
Balaclava during the Crimean War.
Unsurprisingly
St Mary’s has more than its fair share of significant religious figures buried
in the cemetery. In 1850 Pope Pius IX issued the Papal Bull known as Universalis Ecclesiae which re-established
the catholic hierarchy in England and Wales after its 300 year abolition following
the reformation. The first two Archbishops of Westminster in the newly re-established
church, Cardinal Wiseman (1850-1865) and Cardinal Manning (1875-1892), were both
buried at St Mary’s but then exhumed in 1907 and reinterred in the more eminent
surroundings of the newly completed Westminster Cathedral. The cemetery also
lost the body of Margaret Sinclair, a Scottish Poor Clair nun from the convent
in North Kensington, declared Venerable by Pope Paul VI on 06 February 1978. Despite
pressure from her devotees for her canonisation the requisite couple of verified
miracles have never materialised. She spent just a couple of years buried in St
Mary’s before she was dug up and shipped to Mount Vernon Cemetery in Edinburgh
where she was reburied ‘during a storm of wind and rain’ according to the
Aberdeen Press on 23 December 1927. Catholics find it hard to leave their
saints alone – Margaret was dug up again in 2003 and removed to the Parish
church of St Patrick in Edinburgh. At least her remains remain together; in
previous centuries they may well have been broken up and the relics shared
around a number of churches and other religious sites hoping to drum up more custom from the faithful.
Because
St Mary’s is consecrated ground I was surprised to see newspaper stories about
the funeral s of suicide victims in the cemetery. The Gloucester Citizen of 12
November 1932 related the mysterious tale of “Fraulein Ernestine Koestler, the
23-year old Viennese girl who shot herself in the boat train at Victoria
Station on Tuesday.” When she was buried at St Mary’s “resting on the coffin
was a solitary wreath of a hundred red rosebuds without any inscription, and a
brass crucifix. Immediately behind the hearse was a car, the sole occupants
being Mr. Ernest R. Treatwell, of Sheldon-avenue, Highgate, who was a prominent
witness the inquest, and a young man friend.” Another story in the Dundee
Evening Telegraph of 19 December 1934 was about the funeral of ‘mystery bachelor’
(according to the headline) 26 year old John Beresford of Hanover Square who
had also committed suicide. At the inquest into his death the coroner recorded
a verdict of suicide whilst of unsound mind – perhaps it was this that allowed
him to be buried in St Mary’s? According to the newspaper less than a dozen
people were in attendance at the funeral service at the Grosvenor Chapel in
South Audley Street. The funeral had been arranged by a firm of solicitors after
Beresford had written in his suicide note that ‘no doubt someone will come
forward with an offer to bury me…’ There were four wreaths at the altar rail
but only one of them had a card “From Mr and Mrs Sykes and Bagshot.” The
newspaper explained that “Bagshot was the parrot about whose welfare the dead
man left a letter addressed to the manager of the flats…… Only six People were
present at the graveside when the interment took place at St Mary's Cemetery,
Kensal Green. The burial was carried out in accordance with the dead man's last
wishes, that it should be done with simplicity in a quiet place.” Bagshot was
too distressed to comment, apparently.
On
Monday 26 April 1915 there were extraordinary scenes at the cemetery when 7
year Maggie Nally was buried. Maggie had been sexually assaulted and murdered in
the ladies toilet at Aldersgate Underground Station (since renamed Barbican) on
Easter Sunday. The funeral cortege set off from the family home in Amberley
Road, Paddington, said the Daily Record and “in
the thousands of people who had collected women preponderated, but there was
also a large number of children of all ages. The crowds stood ten deep on
either side of the road, and in many cases bad waited for more than an hour in
the hot sun. Amberley Road every window was filled with people, who watched the
carrying of the little coffin from the door to the hearse. The bearers were
four members of the Army Service Corps, dressed in their khaki uniforms. There
were many people even on 'the roofs of the houses and that of the factory
opposite the child's home. Two mounted policemen and a dozen officers on foot
kept passage free for the procession. Many women brought small bunches flowers
to the house in the last half-hour before the funeral started. It was
noticeable, too, that a number of the women among the crowd wore some sign of
mourning, even if it were only a black veil. The departure from the house w as
delayed for some time as the large number wreaths, many of which only arrived when
the funeral was ready to leave. They completely covered the hearse and the tops
of the two mourning coaches.” This was in the middle of the First World war
but serving soldiers forgot about their own horrors to write and telegraph
their sympathies to the family. Private John Coates of the Northumberland
Fusiliers, wounded in Belgium and recuperating in the Royal Infirmary Manchester
sent a pencil sketch of the girl and a letter to her parents “ Dear Mr. and
Mrs. Nally, I hope you not think bad in taking the liberty of sending you
sketch of your child, but I have done it with the best of motives.” And “Corporal
Cvril Howland, of the Army Service Corps, enclosed in a letter from Somewhere in France a postal order
to buy a wreath, and card with the words: From the front. With deep and sincere
sympathy, from Corporal E, C. Rowland. A.S.C. British Expeditionary Force. For
a little angel' In a letter he asked that this card might placed on Maggie’s
grave.” And then there was the telegram
that “came from a number of bluejackets
on warship somewhere off the west coast of Ireland, expressing the deepest
sympathy, but the name of the ship had been deleted the Censor. At the
graveside, where Mrs. Nally was almost in a state of collapse. Canon Windham
appealed to the man who had committed the crime confess. said Let him one manly
deed and give himself to justice.” Canon Windham was wasting his breath of
course, the murderer never confessed and the police never caught him.
On
24 August 1896 John Aitkin, the victim of the ‘Marylebone Coffee House Tragedy’
was buried in front of a large crowd at St Mary’s despite the unseasonably wet
weather. John owned and managed a coffee shop at 71 Marylebone Lane, Oxford
Street. In his sober hours, the Illustrated Police News revealed, his main
hobby was the breeding and keeping of fancy rabbits. His sober hours were few
and far between though as Aitkin had been ‘addicted to drink’ since catching
sunstroke in India whilst in the army. On the 19th August the police had been
called to the coffee shop where they found Aitkin bleeding profusely from a
wound in the neck. When asked what had happened he told the police that “I
annoyed my wife. It is not her fault. I did it myself with a knife." He
died half an hour later and the police arrested his 71 year old wife Emma on suspicion
of murder. The post-mortem revealed that Aitkin’s carotid artery had been
neatly severed in two and a distraught Emma confessed to the police that during
an argument with her inebriated husband she had picked up a knife and flung it
at him from across the room, never expecting to hurt him, let alone sever his
neck from 16 feet away. She had a better aim that she imagined though clearly
her husband forgave her as he tried to take the blame onto himself.
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