Above: A field in Kensal Green Cemetery, 2023.
The memories which peaceful country scenes call up, are not of this world, nor of its thoughts and hopes. Their gentle influence may teach us how to weave fresh garlands for the graves of those we loved: may purify our thoughts, and bear down before it old enmity and hatred….”
Oliver Twist, Charles Dickens (1812-1870), 1838
Wandering amongst the quarter-million souls resting amongst the bucolic 72 acres of The General Cemetery of All Souls, Kensal Green, you absorb a sense of peace from the surroundings. Inspired by Pere Lachaise in Paris, the design incorporates multiple broad pathways and lush landscaping. Opened in 1833, this privately run graveyard was once the fashionable spot to be buried – some 650 titled nobles rest there.
Every direction we looked, there were headstones for those of note and those of more humble backgrounds. But all with stories. I longed to read them all, to grasp snippets of the lives they led. Given their age, many of their resting places are unapproachable, dangerously sunken or knocked out of kilter by the roots of the trees that shade them. Taphophile, yes, but I have no desire to plunge down into a grave, forced to embrace its skeletal contents.
Amongst the remains of royals we encountered along our random route was Princess Sophia (1777-1848), the 12th child of the 15 born to King George III (1738-1820) and Queen Charlotte (1744-1818). She and several of her sisters never married, with suitors kept at bay by their father’s bouts of insanity or their controlling mother’s efforts to keep them cloistered within the confines of the royal court.
That doesn’t mean Princess Sophia was immune from scandal; rumors of an illegitimate child persist. Sophia was interred near one of her elder brothers, Prince Augustus Frederick, Duke of Sussex (1773-1843). The Doric columns of the Anglican Chapel, now fenced off, can be viewed beyond their graves.
While the presence of royals might have spiked sales of the cemetery plots; there were other incentives. The cemetery had acreage set aside for nonconformists, Protestants who did not adhere to the practices of the Church of England, as well as Anglicans.
One of the cemetery’s selling points was security; in an age when bodysnatching was common, the cemetery promised a secure facility safe from graverobbers who sold fresh corpses to medical students for dissection.”
“Kensal Green Cemetery,” Britain Express
Above left: Memorial of Princess Sophia and the Anglican Chapel.
Periodically, a marker would halt us in our tracks. This epitaph boasts lofty praise, while noting the occupant was not without critics:
This monumental pile is not intended to mark the career, but to show how much its inhabitant was respected by those who knew his worth and the benefits derived from his remedial discovery. He is now at Rest and far beyond the praises or censures of this world.”
Epitaph for John Saint John Long (1798-1834)
Curious? Irish-born, John Saint John Long traveled to London for training as a professional artist. His talents were well-received, but, by age 30, he wanted more. Why not practice medicine instead? He chose to anoint himself a podiatrist first but soon realized cures for rheumatism and consumption were in high demand. He would apply his secret concoction of corrosive liquid to the skin of his patients, claiming to separate inflammations from the bloodstream.
Business was good; the “doctor” was raking in close to half a million a year in today’s dollars. Open sores created by the application of Long’s formula could easily become infected, causing the death of some patients. Fortunately for him, influential supporters stepped forward to testify on his behalf during two prominent trials in which he was charged with manslaughter. He received barely a slap on the hand.
After his death, supporters chipped in to commission a fine neoclassical vault in his memory. Yet, it seems difficult to find an online source that fails to label Long anything but a quack. Oh, dear. I failed to heed the epitaph’s polite request for strangers to read his name “without comment.”
Above left and center: Monumental memorial for John Saint John Long. Right: Epitaph for George Cruikshank (1792-1878).
The epitaph left by the wife of George Cruikshank in his memory hints at two sides of the man. His biting political cartoons of the day kept him in the public eye. His illustrations for the novels of his friend, Charles Dickens, and other well-known authors expanded the reach of his reputation internationally. The friendship with Dickens, however, did not end well. Cruikshank had attempted to claim credit for the storyline of Oliver Twist.
Once known as a heavy drinker, Cruikshank climbed atop the wagon. According to his memorial:
For 30 years a total abstainer, and ardent pioneer and champion of pencil, word and pen of universal abstinence from intoxicating drinks….”
Epitaph for George Cruikshank
Following a campaign by his wife, the artist’s corpse was transferred for interment in St. Paul’s Cathedral. Cruikshank’s epitaph there references only his talents, no mention of abstinence or temperance. I wondered whether her request for his elevation in memorial status was submitted before or after the reading of his will, a will that apportioned some of his funds to the 11 illegitimate children he had fathered with a woman down the street.
Down the road a bit, the spirit of the “dear Dad” whose thoughtful children left an empty bottle of rum atop his grave, along with a generous allowance for refills, would probably bid good riddance to his abstaining neighbor.
The persons on whom I have bestowed my dearest love lie deep in their graves; but, although the happiness and delight of my life lie buried there too, I have not made a coffin of my heart, and sealed it up for ever on my best affections. Deep affliction has only made them stronger; it ought, I think, for it should refine our nature.”
Oliver Twist, Charles Dickens, 1838
Only 249,997 souls left for you to become acquainted with on your visit.
Postcards from Barton Springs 