The wanderer near
Ilford in Essex may be pardoned if, on looking over the hedge of a suburban
lane, he should imagine for a moment that be has strayed into the land of the
Lilliputians. The field he sees before him is obviously a cemetery, but the
graves, with one or two exceptions, are abnormally small. On further
examination he will discover that they are the graves of animals; and this the
pets' cemetery maintained by the People's Dispensary for Sick Animals, wherein
are buried upwards of a thousand animals, from a budgerigar to a racehorse. In
his first surprise, he may wonder if he has not stumbled upon the English
counter part of the Happier Hunting Ground. Is there here, perhaps, the same
background that engaged Mr. Evelyn Waugh's satirical pen? The white dove, symbolizing
the animal's soul, liberated at the moment of committal? The anniversary card
of remembrance which announces: "Your little Arthur is thinking of you in
heaven to-day and wagging his tail"? The ordered surroundings, the air of
serenity, and a closer inspection should dispel such extravagant notions. This
is an English field; Essex is remote from California.
The Times 09 May
1955
I
first came across the PDSA cemetery in Ilford after my dog, a cocker spaniel,
had impaled himself on a tree branch in the park. Cocker spaniels were originally
working dogs used by hunters to raise game, usually birds. They are now so
inbred that they are little more than jet propelled olfactory organs; in the
park mine glues his nose to the ground and sets off at full pelt as soon as he
picks up an interesting scent trail. Squirrels produce one of his favourite
spoors. When squirrel meets tree the spoor abruptly changes direction by 90
degrees, switching instantly from horizontal to vertical. This sudden shift of
spoor direction happens too quickly for a short-sighted cocker spaniel,
travelling at velocity, to apply the brakes. Therefore spaniel skull and tree trunk
often come into violent contact, with, I have to say, no discernible ill
effects on the dog that I have noticed. Just once has he caused himself any
real damage, when pelting helter skelter through the undergrowth he managed to find
a broken branch sharp enough to skewer himself on. He emerged from the scrub with
a couple of inches of wood protruding from the front of his chest. When I
pulled it gently five more inches of sharp and bloody stake emerged. The vet
suggested he was admitted to hospital for checks (after discovering we had
insurance) and sent us off to the People’s Dispensary for Sick Animals hospital
on Woodford Bridge Road in Ilford. The pet cemetery is behind the hospital car
park, you can’t miss it as you unload your wounded or sick animal out of your
vehicle. At least there isn’t far to go if the treatment doesn’t work.
Ilford Pet Cemetery featured in the Illustrated London News of August 6, 1955 |
The best known pet cemetery in London is, of course, the one in Hyde Park which contains the bodies of about 300 animals, mainly cats and dogs. More interesting is the one in Ilford on the London/Essex borders set up by the PDSA in the 1920’s on the floodplain of the River Roding, surrounded by playing fields and huddled beneath towering electricity pylons a stones throw away from the roaring traffic of the A406. At least 3000 animals are buried here, mostly canine and feline but also pigeons, budgies, horses, rabbits and a monkey called Ginner who, according to the correspondent from the Times quoted above, “distinguished himself during the war by warning his deaf master of the approach of flying bombs.” There are Dinky’s and Binkies, Dustys and Rustys, Gingers, Trixies and Scruffys, at least two Niggers (more of this later), a Timoshenko, a Joffre, and a cat called Hitler whose headstone I searched for in vain (but which does exist because I’ve seen a photo). There are 12 winners of the Dickin Medal for animal gallantry buried here including an apparently fearless carrier pigeon called Mary of Exeter.
Trixie the Scotch terrier with Mr Tibb the cat in the background |
In 1928 the People Dispensary for Sick Animals (formed in 1917 in Whitechapel by Maria Dickin) acquired land on St Swithin’s farm on the outskirts of Ilford to build an animal hospital and create paddocks for ailing horses saved from the East End. It was also decided to set aside a smallish plot at the top end of the field behind the newly built hospital to serve as a pet cemetery. In the 1930’s the charity also effectively set up a crematorium when it acquired an incinerator which it used to dispose of unwanted animal carcases. Much loved pets on the other hand were laid to rest in the cemetery for a relatively modest fee which included a standard wooden headboard. The cemetery gradually grew in size and many owners put up marble headstones or other memorials to replace the plain wooden boards. At he outbreak of the Second World War the charity found itself unexpectedly faced with a crisis when many panicked pet owners could not let their animals face an uncertain future of bombing raids, rationing or possible invasion by the Nazis. Hundreds of thousands took the difficult decision that it was better for their pets to die than to fall into the hands of the Hun (luckily the government’s hastily created
evacuation plans saved anyone having to make the same tough decision about their children). In what became known as the September Holocaust orderly queues formed outside veterinary surgeries and animal charities as pet owners waited patiently to have their animals humanely destroyed. When vets ran out of chloroform and other lethal agents, some pet owners resorted to finishing off their animals themselves with spade and mattock and everywhere the corpses were piled high and no on knew what to do with them. It was estimated that in London alone between 400,000 and 750,000 animals were destroyed in the first week of the war. Many pet owners that had resisted their first impulses to have their animals killed found themselves succumbing to a second wave of hysteria which swept the country a few weeks later. Some charities resisted, Battersea dogs home saved 140,000 cats and dogs from the holocaust but others felt they had no choice but to collaborate. In 1945 a PDSA looked back at those weeks of unprecedented collective madness and explained the part the charity had played;
The day before
war was declared, we received information that all destructors in London were
working to full capacity. Several corporations, animal societies and veterinary
surgeons were therefore unable to cope with the burial of these poor animals,
and the offer by the P.D.S.A. of the use of a meadow in the grounds of our
sanatorium was accepted. Then our real difficulties began, for, as far as can
be estimated, we buried half a million animals. This necessitated finding
transport, procuring 40 tons of lime, and extra labour. Again people rushed to
have their animals destroyed and again we had to open our grounds for the
receipt of their bodies, this time receiving a further quarter of a million
animals. Our Technical Officers, called upon to perform the unhappy duty of
destroying such a vast number of animals will never forget the tragedy of those
days.
Whilst
the PDSA cemetery contains the remains of 3000 much loved pets the numerous
hummocks and humps in an otherwise empty field on the northern boundary of the
cemetery, fenced off with wire netting and half hidden by scraggy trees and
shrubs, hide the mass graves of almost three quarter of a million animals. It
is quite astonishing; so much for keeping calm and carrying on. Perhaps the
English aren’t as stoical as we like to imagine ourselves. Having your dog put
down just because German tanks had rolled into Poland seems a slight
overreaction but then so does packing off your small children to be housed and
cared for by complete strangers. People were obviously steeling themselves for
what they expected to be a horrific war.
A
plain marble slab inscribed ‘Peter the Home Office Cat’ marks the grave of
Peter, the Home Office cat. Resident cats have been used to control the rodent
population of Government Offices since time immemorial, all in an unofficial capacity.
In 1929 officialdom finally acknowledged the key role these felines played in
government by awarding an allowance of 1d per day for the upkeep of a black tom
cat called Peter who prowled the corridors of the Home Office on Whitehall.
Peter’s mousing performance had been under par for some time because civil
servants had been spoiling him by feeding him titbits. The crown employers were
prohibited from treating him and he was put on a rigorous penny a day diet to
get him back in trim for mouse catching. Peters performance obviously improved
as he stayed in tenure until 1946. At that year’s performance appraisal it was
noted that he was no longer efficient, probably as a result of his advancing
years. Rather ruthlessly the department had him put down on 14 November 1946 (what’s
wrong with retirement!) and replaced him with a two month old kitten, also
called Peter. Peter the second’s tenure was brief. On the night of 27 June 1947
the adolescent Peter II abandoned his duties in the office and slunk off for a
night on the tiles. At 3.15am he was strolling across Whitehall towards the
cenotaph when he was struck by a car. He was also put down. Peter III, also
known as Peter the Great, was appointed Home Office cat on 27 August 1947. He
became something of a national celebrity and made regular appearances in
newspaper and magazine features. Peter III’s performance was generally beyond
reproach, as well as controlling mice he also took on additional duties killing
pigeons if any were foolish enough to stray onto Government premises. In the
great Home Office tradition he was put down on 09 March 1964 and buried in the
Ilford pet cemetery at a well attended funeral. A well known photo shows
Moggie, the PDSA cat, paying his last respects to Peter’s coffin before the
funeral. The dates on his memorial are not correct; Peter III was definitely in post in 1947, not 1949 as stated on the headstone.
I
got very excited when I started researching Nigger the RAF war dog. He was a
male black Labrador, mascot of 617 Squadron who belonged to Wing Commander Guy
Gibson, the famous leader of the Dam Busters raid on German dams using Barnes
Wallace’s bouncing bomb. Nigger managed to get himself knocked over and killed
on the night of the raid, unbeknown to his master who used his name as the code
word to notify mission control of the breach of the Möhne Dam. Nigger was
portrayed in the 1955 film about the raid and his name used freely in the
dialogue. Of course in these PC attuned times where pejorative racial epithets
dating from the miserable days of slavery and slave trading are no longer
considered appropriate names for household pets, having a character named
Nigger in a film creates all sorts of difficulties. Some broadcasters in the UK,
Channel 4 for example, have reacted by putting out a warning before reruns of
the film, letting viewers know that they may hear language more appropriate to ‘Love
and Hip Hop in Atlanta’ than to a 1950’s British film about our glorious
exploits during the war. ITV dealt with the matter by deleting all references
to the animal’s name. In the states the film was dubbed to change the dog’s
name to Trigger. Inability to decide what to do about Nigger’s unfortunate
moniker finally scuppered a planned remake of the film to be scripted by
Stephen Fry and directed by Peter Jackson. After all this I also discovered
that PDSA Nigger is not the Dam Busters dog, who is actually buried at RAF
Scampton in Lincolnshire. The Ilford war dog is likely to have been another
black Labrador who served with the No.
1 Dog Platoon, 277th Field Park Company, of the Royal Engineers as a mine hunter in Normandy following the D Day invasion of France.
The
most famous animal buried at Ilford is probably Able Seacat Simon of HMS
Amethyst, the only cat to win the Dickin Medal for valour. According to the BBC
Simon “suffered severe shrapnel wounds when HMS Amethyst came under fire in a
101-day siege known as the Yangtze Incident in which 17 marines were among the
dead. He received a hero's welcome when the ship returned to dock in Plymouth
on 1 November 1949. Simon died in quarantine three weeks later and was buried
with full military honours at the PDSA Animal Cemetery in Ilford, Essex.” The Torbay Express and South Devon Echo of Thursday
01 December 1949 carries a short account of the funeral, which does
not seem to have been carried out with ‘full military honours’;
Simon Of The
Amethyst Is Buried. Simon the Amethyst Cat, was buried at the P.D.S.A,
Cemetery, Ilford (Essex), to-day. The only people present were Mrs. Grace
Macrow, superintendent of the cemetery and two grave-diggers. The coffin was
covered with the Union Jack. Flowers sent by the public were placed on the
grave and temporary headstone was erected. There will be ceremony in a few
weeks time.
Mary
of Exeter was a carrier pigeon belonging to Cecil ‘Charlie’ Brewer, a boot
maker from West Street in Exeter who enrolled his prize bird in the National
Pigeon Service at the start of the war. Mary was dropped several times behind
enemy lines in France to collect top secret messages which she always delivered
without fail back to Exeter despite being wounded three times and once going
missing in action for 10 days. She was injured in an attack by a German war
hawk stationed in the Pas-de-Calais, was shot and lost the tip of her wing as a
result, and was finally put out of action by a piece of shrapnel. A blue plaque
marks the site of her former roost in Exeter.
Another
memorial marks the burial place of Bruce Forsyth’s dog Rusty. In his
autobiography Sir Bruce recalls trusty Rusty who lived with him and his first
wife in their touring caravan and became part of his stage act at the London
Palladium. “Rusty was a truly lovely fellow who performed all sorts of fantastic tricks," says Sir Bruce, “his favourite was to flip a biscuit off his nose and catch it in his mouth." Sadly Rusty became ill and lost the ability to use his back legs “We had no idea what caused this sudden disability. We called the vet, who explained that Rusty was suffering from suppressed distemper. 'He will never again have the use of his back legs', we were told. It was awful to witness - almost
overnight he had become this pathetic, helpless animal. The only way I could
take him outside for at least some limited exercise was to grab hold of his
tail and lift his back legs up, allowing him to walk on his front legs with his
back end sort of gliding along. This didn't hurt him at all and he loved to be
outside, but people in the street gave me filthy looks. This went on for some
weeks, with pressure growing from various vets we visited to have him put down.
Penny refused to give up hope. One day Rusty knocked over his bowl of water.
'Oh, Rusty, you bad dog!' I exclaimed. 'Look what you've done! Come here!' Then,
very gradually, Rusty rose on all four legs and walked towards me. We could not
believe it."
As
for my cocker, he survived his impalement in the park, after spending a couple
of days in the hospital and running up a medical bill of £1100, he was released
home as good as new. There was no necessity for me to shell out for a plot in
the cemetery. Maybe next time.
Thank you for sharing this post and It's nice to know that we give importance the final arrangement of our pet and even before they are really part of our family. By the way, our pet dog died recently and after her pet cremation houston tx only the pet jewelry left to me. And it's hard to accept her loss.
ReplyDeletePolitical correctness has gone bonkers. On another site regarding Guy Gibsons dog, I wrote; ''I will not change history to comply with your guidelines'' ! kcuf off! Worzel.😊
ReplyDeleteAs a small boy I loved my grandmothers dog also called nigger, but I only related it to the dog, not black men.
Well you were only a small boy and presumably not aware that it is an ethnic slur? Fictional accounts of historic events often play fast and loose with historic fact - changing the name of the dog doesn't subtract much from the story of the dambusters!
DeleteThere's another pet cemetery behind the gatehouse at Victoria Gate, Hyde Park, but it's now only visible with google maps satellite view. 😊 Worzel.
ReplyDeleteI didn't realise it wasn't open to the public anymore. Apparently "special one-hour viewings can be arranged by contacting The Royal Parks. Each visit can accommodate 6 people and costs £60 (including VAT)." £10 per person sounds a bit steep for a very small pet cemetery....
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