An Old Farts London Day Out

On 20 May, one of Commando’s friends was racing at Parliament Hill Fields Athletics Track. A few running friends were going to cheer him on, so it seemed like a golden opportunity for our second Old Farts Railcard adventure. As the track is on Hampstead Heath, not far from Highgate, I was quite excited at the prospect of a cemetery wander. Armed with lots of information about underground trains, cemetery opening times and prices, we set off to Bitterne Station for the first leg of our journey.

As Robert Burns once said, ‘The best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men gang aft a-gley.’ Our carefully worked-out plan fell apart when we reached Southampton Central Station. We met our friends, but the train we were supposed to catch didn’t arrive. There was some confusion as to why for a while. Then an announcement informed us that there were long delays on the Waterloo service due to ‘something on the line.’ It all sounded rather ominous.

Eventually, the ‘something’ was removed from the line, and our train arrived. Later we discovered the ‘something’ was a bicycle. Luckily, we’d allowed ourselves plenty of time for a leisurely journey. Now it would be less leisurely and more of a dash. Still, we were on the train, we had seats, and we were heading for Waterloo. I got out my Kindle and settled down for a read while Commando chatted about running with his mates. As we pulled into Woking Station, I noticed a man sitting alone on a bench. Something about him seemed strange. A closer look told me he was actually a sculpture. I later discovered he was called Seated Man, created by Woking-born artist Sean Henry. In 2017, five of his works, made over a period of fifteen years, were exhibited around Woking. Seated Man has remained on the station to this day. Sean’s father was a regular London commuter until he invented the Vortok Coil, a kind of screw/spring that keeps rails securely fixed to sleepers. The money he made enabled him to stop commuting and financed his son’s sculpting career.

The mad dashing began once we got to Waterloo. Our leisurely lunch stop became a hastily grabbed sandwich and a rush to the underground. I’m not a fan, so I will gloss over the white knuckle ride and the train changes. What a relief to arrive at Hampstead Heath station and get out into the fresh air. Sadly, there was no time for a drink at the Magdala Tavern. Known locally as The Maggy, the pub was named after the British Victory in the 1868 Battle of Magdala. It also enjoys a measure of infamy. Ruth Ellis shot her lover David Blakely outside the Magdala Tavern on Easter Sunday, 1955. On 13 July of the same year, Ruth became the last woman to be hanged in Great Britain. Albert Pierrepoint was the hangman.

We had a bit of a climb to reach Hampstead Heath. It’s not called Parliament Hill Fields Athletics Track for nothing. Still, we’d been sitting on trains for most of the day, so the walk was no hardship, and despite a few dodgy-looking clouds, the weather was lovely. In fact, Hampstead Heath was bursting with people taking advantage of the nice day.

This was where I parted company with Commando and his running buddies. They went off to the track to watch the races, and I carried on across the park, stopping to peer intently at Google Maps every so often to ensure I was going the right way. With a bit more time on my hands, I might have climbed to the viewpoint at the top of Parliament Hill. Apparently, it is one of the highest points in the city and gives the best possible views of the London skyline. I had to content myself with a quick snap from a much lower level, though, because it was racing towards half past three, and I knew the cemetery closed at five o‘clock.

Wishing I had time to relax and take it all in, I hurried across the park and emerged on Highgate Road, slightly warm and flustered. The wonderful ghost signs on the side of Bistro Laz almost made up for being unable to stop for a coffee. By this time, I was feeling a tad dehydrated, so a coffee stop would have gone down a treat. Instead, I crossed the zebra crossing and, assisted by a helpful street sign, plodded up Swain’s Lane. Uphill seemed to be the order of the day.

Everywhere I looked, I was taunted by cafes and restaurants. If I didn’t take on some fluid soon, I might need a plot in Highgate Cemetery, not a ticket to visit. Thankfully, a well-placed Tesco Express came to the rescue. I continued my climb armed with a rather expensive bottle of water. As the things got steeper, the houses got more interesting. I later discovered that the enviable neo-gothic houses to my right were part of Holly Village, designed for Angela Burdett-Coutts in the 1860s.

A lack of time was fast becoming the theme of the day. I’d loved to have stopped and really looked at these beautiful houses, maybe crossed the road and peered through the ornately arched entrance to the ‘village,’ but all I could do was take a quick snap and keep climbing. In case you’re wondering, Angela Burdett-Coutts was the granddaughter of Thomas Coutts of Coutts Bank. In her twenties, she inherited a gigantic chunk of the family estate and became the second richest woman in Britain. She used her money to establish the NSPCC and RSPCA and donated huge sums to charity. The village was designed with the help of Charles Dickens and architect Henry Darbishire, and Italian craftsmen worked on the ornate teak carvings. Oddly, no one is sure what the purpose of the village was, but the beautiful Portland stone houses are Grade II listed.

Suffering from a bad case of house envy, I kept climbing. Before long, I had the cemetery wall beside me. Every so often, I stopped to snap photographs of the tantalising glimpses of graves through the railings. Ok, so the steep climb and the heat may have contributed to the frequent stops, too.

Most graves were too far from the cemetery wall to read their inscriptions. One was very clear, though. The crazed texture intrigued me, and I wondered if it had happened by accident or design. The grave belonged to William Friese Greene, Bristol-born inventor, photographer and pioneer of motion pictures. Amongst his inventions was the moving picture camera, invented in 1891, and an early two-colour filming process in 1905. He became rich but spent every penny on new projects and died in poverty.

His death was dramatic. On 5 May 1921, he attended a meeting at the Connaught Rooms in London, chaired by Lord Beaverbrook, to discuss the state of British Film distribution. The discussion became heated, and Friese-Green stood to speak. He was invited to the stage, where he appealed to the two conflicting sides to compromise. Moments later, he collapsed and died of a heart attack. The film industry folk felt shame and guilt when they realised who he was and his dire financial straits. They organised a lavish funeral and paid for the memorial I peeked at through the railings. I’d probably never have seen it if it hadn’t been so close to the wall, but it did make it impossible to get it all into one photograph.

To my relief, the gate was in sight, and my climb was almost over. It was ten minutes to four, so I had just over an hour. Far less time than I’d hoped. Another slight disappointment was the scaffolding and corrugated iron around the gates, meaning I couldn’t take a decent photo. Still, I was there and looking forward to a wander.

The cemetery is divided into two halves, bisected by the road. I had entered the gate to the West Cemetery, the oldest of the two. It was opened on Monday, 20 May 1839, so I arrived on its anniversary. Fifteen acres were consecrated for Church of England use and two acres for dissenters. On 26 May, Elizabeth Jackson of Little Windmill Street, Soho, was the first person buried. It soon became a fashionable place to be interred and to visit. Unlike every other cemetery I’ve seen, there is a charge to enter, and I had a choice of tickets to buy. If I limited myself to the East Cemetery, it would cost me £4.50. To visit both East and West cemeteries cost £10. Being so short on time, I probably should have stuck to the East Cemetery, but without really thinking it through, I coughed up £10. I’d just taken my ticket and the information booklet that came with it, when a bedraggled old fox appeared in the courtyard. The cemetery attendant told me that Mr Fox was a regular visitor. Lucky for him, he doesn’t have to pay.

In 1854, 19 acres were purchased on the opposite side of Swains Lane to create the East Cemetery. It opened in 1860. This was where the graves I was most interested in were. With time at a premium, I took a quick photo of the courtyard and the cross of sacrifice on the war memorial, said goodbye to Mr Fox, and headed back towards the gate.

There are approximately 170,000 people buried in Highgate Cemetery, in 53,000 graves. I always knew I’d be scratching the surface, but I wanted to get my £10 worth if I could. Even so, I took a few minutes to stop at the gate and admire the lovely little chapel, one of two housed within the Tudor Gothic-style gatehouse. Then, with a mixture of excitement, trepidation, and disappointment that I had so little time, I crossed Swains Lane to the West Cemetery. I’ll tell you how I got on later . . .

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