Bunhill Fields - A Patch Of Calm Amidst City Commotion

With the last throes of summer in motion I wanted to pay one more visit to a notable cemetery. I have been very conscious that my big plans to visit each of the 'Magnificent 7' cemeteries last summer did not amount to much, having only managed Highgate and Brompton. Any notion of reviving the plan this summer was truely shipwrecked when I landed myself in the Princess Alexadra Hospital for three weeks. It was a lousy summer weatherwise and unfortunately the best of it occured when I was confined to my ICU bed. The best of 2024's summer rays were viewed through a maze of aluminium ventilation ductwork that formed the outside view from the vantage point of my bed.

In recovery now and gaining strength I have been keen to push myself at weekends in terms of getting mobile. I was very surprised how quickly I lost weight, two stone in that three week period of hospital incarceration. As a result some muscle loss has rendered my already chicken-like legs even more spindly and, excuse the detail, but my buttocks seem to have withered leaving behind a rather bony bum. On the plus side I have noticed that a hint of cheekbones have started to emerge after many years of lying hidden in the depths of my face. We are not talking Pete Murphy of Bauhaus cheekbones here... but its a start!

Anyway, enough of the anatomical update and back to the talk of cemetery visits. Earlier in the week, an outing was proposed for the coming Saturday whereby we would take in Abney Park cemetery and at the same time pay a visit to the William Morris Museum in Walthamstow and also drop into the German Deli in Blackhorse Road, a regular haunt of Gunta's. This time, the visit was upended by technology, the BBC weather app to be precise, that suggested that Saturday's weather in the London area was likely to be very wet for most of the day. Hardly ideal conditions for a slow amble through a large garden cemetery. 

Keen not to lose the opportunity for some much needed exercise, I consulted one of several books I have on unusual places to visit in London to see whether a more weather appropriate option could be found. The answer that we agreed upon was Bunhill Fields. This location still ticks all the boxes for me but the site is much smaller and as such a safer bet if the heavens were to open. 

The location of Bunhill Fields will come to many as a surprise, for this ancient burial ground abutts directly onto City Road in London's EC1. When within the grounds, raising your eyes a little over the iron railings that enclose the site, you will see just how completely Bunhill Fields is hemmed in by the steel and glass superstructures that form part of the modern city, the UKs financal hub. This situation is a far cry from the site's origins in the 16th Century.

London has long had a problem with its dead. Don't take that in the wrong way! Not on a personal level but on a purely practical level. The expansion of the City occured with great rapidity as large numbers of people left the countryside for the perceived improved prospects to be had within urban areas, especially London. Here we must remember that for the longest period this 'London' would have extended not much further than the area within the Roman city walls and the immediate areas beyond i.e. a very confined geographical space. Limitations of space certainly were applicable to the many Churches within the city. In the more God-fearing atmosphere of the time, parishoners naturally desired upon their demise to be laid to rest in close proximity to other family members and the Church where they had worshipped in life. The problem was that the tiny Churchyards in the locality were not up to the job. Even the greatest Church in the area, St Pauls Cathedral, was not immune from the issues of how to manage a multitude of dead bodies.

In 1549 a decision was taken to demolish the charnel house of St Paul's and a plan had to be devised as to where to relocate the skeletal remains within the building. By the mid-sixteenth century theologians had estabilished that the dead only remain in pugatory (an intermediate state between physical death and entry of the purified soul into heaven) whilst flesh remained on the bones. Such 'Papish' concepts fell out of favour somewhat after the Reformation. As a result, 'dry bones' could be disinterred without risk of eternal damnation to the bones owners! But what to do with them? Bunhill was the answer. Little over a mile away from Wren's cathedral, but critically, beyond the City, was the area of Bunhill, at that time moorland. Incidently, the origin of the name Bunhill is thought to derive from 'Bone Hill' by virtue of burials that occured there in the Saxon era. 

The removal operation was immense with over a 1000 cartloads of dry bones transported north to their new place of burial at Bunhill. The huge volume of bones were distributed over the moor and covered with a thin layer of soil. The introduction of such a mass of solid material resulted in an elevation of the moorland above the marshy surrounding fenland such that three windmills were erected in the area. Thus was Bunhill first established as a burial ground.

In 1665, the bubonic plague visited London and once again the authorities were faced with the dilema of the dead. The situation was more pressing than it had been a century before when Bunhill was first established. It was a priority to remove plague victimes from the environs of the living or obvious reasons. For this purpose Bunhill was authorised by the City of London Corporation as a potential plague pit to accomodate the victims of the City. However, it is uncertain whether Bunhill was ever put to this use. 

By virtue of the Act of Uniformity 1662, the Church of England and its practises became national and whilst the Bunhill burial ground was subsequently enclosed, the Church neglected to consecrate the land and the site fell into private ownership.

It was a Mr. Tindal, who, as leaseholder put the burial ground to a new use. Interment for those that could afford the fee. The site became popular as an extramural cemetery for Nonconformists, Protestant Christians who elected to practise their faith outside of the rules of the Church of England. This fact caused one poet to describe the burial ground as the 'Campo Santo (cemetery) of the Dissenters'.

Detail of John Rocque's 1746 map of London showing the location of Tindal's Buring Ground (Bunhill Fields) relative to Old Street and Bunhill Row. (Image from https://www.locatinglondon.org/).

The Order for closure of Bunhill Fields was made in December 1853, an enactment of the Parlimentary legislation that decreed that cemeteries and burial grounds could be closed once deemed to be full. The last burial was that of Elizabeth Howell Oliver on 5th January 1854, although some burials in existing plots continued after that date. At the point of closure, it is estimated that 123,000 interments has taken place in the burial ground. Today, in excess of 2,000 monuments remain in the grounds, all apart from some of its most celebrated occupants are behind iron railling enclosures (although 'beyond the railing' publically accessible tours do take place at certain times).

So, what do you do with a closed plot of land that was once moorland beyond the city walls, but is now well within what we know as the City, that just happens to contain the remains of more than 100,000 old Londoners? A 99 year lease on the land granted to the London Corporation was due to expire at the end of 1867, so the Corporation established the Special Bunhill Fields Burial Ground Committee in 1865 (later to to be renamed the Bunhill Fields Preservation Committee). This body was able to prevent commercial companies from redeveloping the site. A further Act of Parliament, the Bunhill Fields Burial Ground Act 1867 decreed that the site be maintained as an 'open space'.

The above is an abrieviated summary of the lifetime of this most remarkable, now inner city space. I find it extraordinary that right in the heart of one of the biggest financial centres in the world there exists, unchanged and preseved, such a wonderful fragment of London's rich social and religious history. Busy cities need places like this. Enclosed spaces with benches from where one can take in the magnificent yet crumbling headstones and momuments of centuries past. To spend just fifteen minutes in such a place is sufficient to make the tumult of the metropolis, in full swing just yards away, almost non-existant. Not an easy feat.

As a designated and protected community garden it is also wonderful to see bird baths and feeders positioned amongst the headstones and the wonderful mature trees within Bunhill Fields. At the base of John Bunyan's monument I had an encounter with a particularly bold squirrel, who no doubt used to the footfall of several hundred humans through his manner daily, was not going to be phased by the likes of me. Likewise, gangs of pigeons (wrong collective noun I know, but far more fitting) congregate around certain monuments, creating a scene imaginable if 'The Birds' met 'The Omen'. 

This being early morning on a weekend in the City, it was quiet and yet several tourists had the same idea and Gunta and I. How brilliant it is that these tourists chose to spent a precious hour of their time in London in the company of some of our most esteemed poets, painters and preachers, not to mention the odd brazen squirrel and plotting pigeons, rather than the Hard Rock Cafe London, or the London Dungeons.

An example of a London EC1 Dissident squirrel.

I won't dwell too much on the notables in residence in Bunhill Fields. As mentioned there are Nonconformist preachers aplenty, a few English Civil War Parlimentarians and John Bunyan, famed for his 'Pilgrim's Progress'. 

The author of once chidren's favourite 'Robinson Crusoe' lies here, commenorated by an 1870 obelisk after his headstone was destroyed by a lightening stike.

Perhaps the most celebrated ocupant is 'painter, poet and mystic' William Blake whose headstone was moved as part of a relandscaping of the site, but in August 2018, a ledger stone on the site of his original grave was unveiled by author Philip Pullman, the President of the Blake Society.

A final word should go to Dame Mary Page who perhaps has one of the most bizzare epitaphs on her monument that I have ever seen.

The poor woman suffered from dropsy or water retention, and if the inscription is to believed in 67 months of treatment she endured the removal of 240 gallons of water from her body!

So, in short, should you find yourself with an hour of free time in the City of London you could do far worse than to spend it in Bunhill Fields. I can promise you that you will leave with feeling of calm that only the best cemeteries can offer!

Dead Souls – On the Trail of Joy Division (Southern Cemetery Manchester)

Thoughts of Joy Division invariably conjure up iconic images of a serious, raincoat-wrapped post-punk troupe pictured against a back-drop of the urban decay of 1970’s Manchester or Stockport. But in 2024, three key figures in the Joy Division drama can be located amongst the sun dappled headstones of the Southern Cemetery.

They are there and their plot details are available online. However, I was unable to see any plot markers indicating where exactly you are in the cemetery at any given point. The sections are arranged both alphabetically and by religious denomination (i.e. C of E, Roman Catholic, Non-Conformist, Jewish, Islamic etc). The best I could do is try to navigate with reference to one or more of the chapels standing at the cardinal compass points in the grounds. The only remaining problem then was my total lack of any semblance of a sense of direction. Nevertheless, cemeteries rarely get the upper hand on me and so Mo and I were up to the challenge of finding our cemetery residents, plot markers be damned.

The first headstone found on our shopping list of three, or rather stumbled across, was that of Tony, latterly Anthony Wilson. ‘Mr Manchester’ himself. Tony Wilson entered the world of journalism and broadcasting after graduating in English from Jesus College in Cambridge. As a presenter on ‘So It Goes’, a Granada TV, entertainments and arts magazine show, he did much to promote the new music that was breaking through in the mid 1970’s. Despite all outward appearances, over the collar hair, wide collared shirts and flared jeans, Wilson was tired of the musical status quo, and probably Status Quo too for that matter.

In the Summer of 1976 he bore witness to Sex Pistols at Manchester’s Lesser Free Trade Hall, an event that he described as "nothing short of an epiphany". Whilst several fellow gig goers were subsequently compelled to form their own punk bands, Wilson went one step further and put the Pistols on television (the band appeared on the last episode of series one of ‘So It Goes’). It was the band’s first appearance on UK TV and for many teenagers in the North West, the 3 minutes 33 seconds of ‘Anarchhy In The UK’ studio footage was every bit as explosive as the Bill Grundy interview was to their counterparts in London. It is I have to say an electrifying performance even today; I can only try to imagine how it must have been perceived in 1976 against a backdrop of so much turgid AOR!

Tony Wilson had found his calling. As co-founder of Factory Records, he managed label acts, A Certain Ratio and Durutti Column. However, he is best known for his association with Joy Division and New Order. Famously, or perhaps that should be infamously, he founded the Haçienda, A project largely bank rolled by the record sales of Joy Division and later New Order. Whilst the contribution of the Haçienda to the cultural life and legacy of Manchester and the North West of England was off the scale, its contribution to the coffers of the owners and shareholders was less than impressive, (see Peter Hook’s book: The Haçienda – How Not To Run A Club for the inside story). Tony Wilson was also on the scene when Manchester enjoyed a second wave of UK musical domination with the rise of ‘Madchester’ and the Happy Mondays.

Wilson’s own words, ‘some people make money and some make history’ are very true indeed.

Anthony H Wilson, died of a heart attack whilst undergoing cancer treatment in Manchester on 10th August 2007. When the news broke the Union Flag flying from Manchester Town Hall was lowered to half mast, a clear indication of the affection the City of Manchester held for this often rather arrogant, but always entertaining impresario. He was Manchester through and through.

His headstone, designed by in-house Factory artist, Peter Saville, bears the inscription:

‘Anthony H Wilson 

Broadcaster

Cultural Catalyst 

1950-2007’ 

Next on the list of headstone to track down was that belonging to Rob Gretton, the long-serving manager of both Joy Division and New Order. Gretton’s obituary in The Independent stated that he was to the two Manchester bands what Brian Epstein was to The Beatles.

Rob Gretton was an early supporter of the flourishing Manchester punk scene which saw him managing fellow Wythenshawe punks, Slaughter & The Dogs. As resident DJ at Rafters he witnessed Joy Division, then under the name of Warsaw for the first time. By April 1978 they had adopted the name Joy Division and returned to Rafters to participate in the label sponsored Stiff Test/Chiswick Challenge, a battle of the bands competition. The Judges weren’t swayed, but Tony Wilson, the man off the telly, was impressed.

Gretton took on the management of Joy Division and badgered his new acquaintance to get Joy Division some exposure on Granada TV, which Wilson duly did.

As a co-founder of Factory Records, Rob Gretton was keen to see Joy Division release their debut album on the label, rather than on a major. 1979’s ‘Unknown Pleasures’ was released on Factory and secured the label’s cultural legacy that remains solid to this day.

Upon the suicide of Ian Curtis on the eve of Joy Division’s first American tour, Gretton as manager did much to steady the ship, such that after a period of reflection, the three surviving members formed New Order, who went on to become one of the country’s most enduring and successful bands of the ‘80’s and ‘90s.

Rob Gretton died of a heart attack on 15^th May 1999 at the age of 46.

The last grave that Gunta, Mo and I tasked ourselves to find belonged to the man responsible for making Joy Division sound unique amongst a multitude of sombre, post-punk bands, one Martin Hannett.

A musician himself, Hannett first turned his hand to record production in late 1976 when as Martin Zero he sat behind the console desk to produce the independent Spiral Scratch EP (New Hormones), the first salvo from Manchester’s Buzzcocks. After Buzzcocks he continued to produce for other Manchester/Salford acts such as Jilted John and John Cooper Clarke as well as many of the bands on the Factory Records label in which he was a partner. But it is the work with Joy Division for which he is best remembered.

His understanding and mastery of studio gadgetry and techniques, such as mixing live drum sounds with synthesizers, resulted in a uniquely distinctive sound that still make Joy Division stand head and shoulders above many of their contemporaries. By all accounts, he wasn’t an easy man to work with. He knew what sounds he wanted to achieve, whether the band understood or agreed. In fact he was not one for canvassing the opinion of the band either. He once stated of Joy Division, ‘They were a gift to a producer, because they didn't have a clue. They didn't argue.’ In fact, according to drummer Stephen Morris, Hannett employed several rouses by which to discourage opposing opinions from the band, including maintaining the control booth at an ice cold temperature to keep band members and their gripes away.

In later years Hannett went on to work on the commercial success that was ‘Bummed’ by Happy Mondays as a freelance producer, having left the Factory fold.

Increasing drug and alcohol abuse ultimately led to heart failure and Martin died on 18th April 1991 at the age of 42.

His headstone is very unassuming but carries a very big inscription, it reads:

‘Record Producer And Creator Of The Manchester Sound’

Not that these three titans of the Manchester music scene would have conferred prior to their untimely demise, but it was reassuring to see that each of the headstones were in black!

Thus ended our Joy Division themed gravestone expedition…. or so I thought.

At the end of our stay in Didsbury, having said our goodbyes to Mo and John we headed south. The night before, just as we were turning in for the night, I casually mentioned the fact that Macclesfield was just fourteen miles away… and since it was in the right, southbound, direction, could we perhaps call in to just one more cemetery. You see, I had my eye on the big guy, Ian Curtis. Gunta obliged and very soon we were motoring through some very verdant Cheshire countryside en route to Macclesfield Cemetery, located about a mile outside of the town. Entering the grounds before 9am on an Autumnal Sunday morning was beautiful. Ground mist was still visible in patches in the shallows of the cemetery. Getting our bearings we found the location where Ian’s ashes were interred with relative ease, which was surprising given the scale of the memorial. I said that Martin Hannett’s headstone was unassuming… however, it looks like the tomb of Lenin in comparison with the marker for Ian Curtis. The plot is tended and the only indication of a musical past was a handful of weathered plectrums.

I will not expand on Ian’s history as it is so well known. I will just say how poignant it was to see the resting places of these four men, all pivotal to success and legacy of Joy Division and the wider music scene of Manchester. It is all remarkable that they all died way too soon.

A Morning In Manchester’s Southern Cemetery

 

Located three miles to the south of Manchester City Centre, the magnificent Southern Cemetery is the largest municipal cemetery in the United Kingdom and the second largest in all of Europe. Over the last four years in which time our daughter was a student at the Manchester School of Art we have driven past the cemetery en route to the centre. On those occasions I could only wonder at the place as the mass of aged headstones seemed keep pace with the car for an eternity. It was, from the first time I saw it, high on my list of desirable cemetery visits.

Mo  completed her Fine Arts degree this summer (with an MA commencing this September). Time had come to leave the hustle, bustle and buzz of central Manchester and move out to more affordable accommodation in Burnage (Gallagher territory). Thus on the occasion of our most recent visit to the city Gunta and I opted to stay in nearby Didsbury rather than in Princess Street in the centre which has been our usual area to stay.

Friday morning saw weather that would be perfect in any corner of the country, let alone Manchester, the sun shining in a cloudless sky in that unique late summer/early autumn way. The kind of weather that sets a cemetery off like no other. Now, our daughter’s boyfriend, John, has a personal connection with the cemetery (as do half the residents of Manchester to be honest given its scale). His Mother and paternal Grandparents lie in the grounds and so we purchased a plant in one of the several florists whose trade is supported by Southern Cemetery. 

It sounds like a very strange thing to say about a cemetery, but I felt that there was something about this place that celebrated life. Unlike many large cemeteries in towns and cities where the development of the area can understood by looking at the age of the graves in a given area, in Southern Cemetery there is much more of a feeling that modern headstones are in close proximity with the older ones. As such there are not large swathes of the site that are untended and unvisited. As mentioned, it was a Friday morning and I would describe the place as busy, very peaceful but well, yes, busy. As we passed the North Chapel, a funeral service was in progress. Elsewhere, would be mourners were frantically trying to establish the whereabouts of other funerals taking place that morning, having in all likelihood underestimated the enormity of the site. We saw families in good spirits carrying balloons en route to the grave of a young relative. Really, in this place of death and remembrance there was evidence of life abundant. In this spirit, recognising that bereavement affects both young and old, within the grounds are post boxes  for letters to heaven and letters to the angels for children to post. There are also children’s trails through the cemetery and even traces of humour if you know where to look!

All of these things to my mind are perfectly designed to make the cemetery, if not a joyful place, far less of a place of doom, gloom and unconquerable sadness.

Another thing that struck me about Southern Cemetery was its modesty. Manchester’s first millionaire, business man and philanthropist, John Rylands has the biggest memorial in the cemetery. Indeed it is quite large, but in comparison with some of the memorials that grace the garden cemeteries of London it is not so showy at all. Legendary Manchester United manager, Sir Matt Busby, lies a bounce of a football away from John’s family’s plot. As can be seen from the photo, his headstone includes his family only and makes no reference to football at all. Contrast this with memorials in Germany, where the grave’s occupant’s worldly achievements are commonly spelled out like a curriculum vitae in stone for any passer to see!

Another notable resident is the painter L.S. Lowery. Such an understated memorial. He is commemorated on a side panel of his parents' grave with just mention of his name and dates. The only clue to his illustrious past and fame is a small collection of worn and weathered paint brushes left by admirers of the man and his work.

It doesn't take much for me to recommend a visit to most cemeteries, but this one is truely exceptional. Walk its paths and who knows you may even see Morrissey. The Smiths' track, 'Cemetery Gates' is widely believed to be based upon times he spent within the grounds.

Vesuvius - The Volcano What Done It in AD79!

 

Above is Mount Vesuvius viewed from the excavated ruins of Pompeii. Any trip to the Bay of Naples area involves Vesuvius, even if only as a view. On Day 2 of our time recently in Sorrento, as a base for visits to Pompeii and Herculaneum, the party had a day with nothing scheduled. So this became the opportunity to pay a visit to the volcano's crater.

Mount Vesuvius viewed from Sorrento

Picking up a minibus from Pompeii Scavi-Villa dei Misteri, the train station that serves the ruins I admired and was horrified in equal measure by the driver's skills as he maneuvered the packed vehicle ever upwards on the slopes of Vesuvius. It helped in no way that, with my well developed fear of heights, I was on the side of the bus with the most dramatic view of the perilous drop down the side of the mountain that my window seat offered!

Nevertheless, we made it to the point where the buses disgorged their tourists and left them to make their way to the rim of the crater on foot. The literature states that the climb is only 1.8 metres but whilst manageable it wasn't exactly a walk in the park.

The upward journey offered marvelous views across the Bay of Naples. 

I was surprised to find that the air was free from the smell of sulphur. In my albeit limited experience of climbing volcanoes (Mount Teide in Tenerife in 1982!) even dormant volcanoes show off a lot of sulphur and associated odours! No such problems on the crater's edge on Vesuvius.

Panoramic view of the crater

In terms of thermal activity there were no more than a few wisps of steam just visible around some of the rocks. But to peer into the void is like looking at a vision of Tolkien's creation of Mordor! It is definitely a place in which to feel wholly insignificant in the face of the full force of nature. Just think that Prior to the eruption in AD59 Vesuvius was no less than 600 meters higher than it is today and consider the statistic that I mentioned in the earlier Pompeii post, that at the height of the eruption, the volcano was ejecting an estimated 1.5 million tonnes of material per second! I find those facts very intimidating. 

We spent about an hour walking around the area of the rim that is accessible to the public   (approximately half of the perimeter by my reckoning) before making the descent back to the car park area and our daredevil bus driver. The way down was a little more perilous as the pumice on the path had a tendency to take your feet from under you. 

This chap though had it all sussed!

Vesuvius is safe for now. Monitoring stations are clearly visible around the crater. We were told as long as Sicily's Mount Etna continued to perform, Vesuvius will remain quiet. However, if the Etna's seismic activity tailed off the folk in and around the Bay of Naples would need to take heed! 

Pompeii 13th May 2024 - A Roman Tragedy That Became A Gift For The World

 

The eruption of Vesuvius in AD79 was cataclysmic for the inhabitants of the commercial hub city of Pompeii (residents of Herculaneum on another slope of the volcano faired no better). Mount Vesuvius dominates the Bay of Naples in the Campania region of Southern Italy.

One fateful afternoon in the Autumn of AD79, one of the most famous and deadly volcanic events commenced in an eruption that lasted for two days and consisted of distinct and different phases that radically distinguish the two destroyed cities of Pompeii and Herculaneum. The first eruption occured at 1pm (according to the account of Pliny the Younger, a witness from the other side of the bay) and lasted 18 hours. This first phase of the eruption ejected a column of pumice, ash and molten rock a staggering 33 kilometers into the air. It is estimated that 1.5 million tonnes of material were spewed into the atmosphere per second. Day turned into night and violent electrical storms raged in the vicinity of the volcano. After many hours the ferocity of the eruption tailed off such that the airborne material was now longer supported, gravity played its part and down the debris came... and a lot of it too!

A layer of pumice and ash was deposited upon the city of Pompeii to an estimated depth of 2.8 meters. Many citizens perished in this first phase. Those that survived the collapse of the ash and pumice column having found adequate shelter in sound buildings believed, mistakenly, that for them the worst was over.

On the second day of the eruption a second event occurred that was very different in nature and significantly more lethal and inescapable. Today, volcanologists understand the anatomy of volcanos and the different ways in which they behave. This was not knowledge enjoyed by the Roman population of the doomed settlements constructed on the lower slopes of Vesuvius. In the second event Pompeii was hit by two pyroclastic surges (fast moving flows of superheated gases and molten rock). This surge advanced down the slope towards Pompeii at a speed in excess of 100 mph, incinerating all upon contact. Any survivors of the first stage of the eruption died as a result of thermal shock as the surge engulfed the city. 

This pyroclastic surge laid down a further layer of volcanic material that marked the end of Pompeii's long history. The city then remained buried, encased in a tephra tomb for a millennia and a half until findings were made in the 1500's. However, formal excavations on the site did not commence in earnest until the 1800's when ancient cultures and the archaeology of their cities became a popular pursuit with digs funded by the wealth of the west.

With 'modern' archaeological investigations underway, it soon became apparent that human and animal remains lay under the pumice. Those victims of the eruption, having succumbed to asphyxiation in the first phase or the thermal shock of the second phase died quickly where they lay in the positions they were in at the point of their death. We know this thanks to the pioneering technique developed by Giuseppe Fiorelli in the 1800's that was capable of preserving the remains of victims in their 'point of death' positions.

The bodies of victims killed as described above were rapidly buried by the pumice. Trapped oxygen in the volcanic material allowed the normal process of organic matter decay to occur leaving skeletal remains in position, surrounded by voids previously occupied by soft tissue. When probing of the area from the surface indicated the presence of a void, plaster was poured into holes from above, thereby filling any cavities and encasing the skeletons once more. Then, removal of the surrounding pumice revealed a cast of the body as it was at the exact moment of death.

Several such casts are on display in the Antiquarium on site and they are very poignant still, almost 2,000 years later.

The first example of a cast to greet the visitor is one guaranteed to tug at the heart strings of a predominantly British party... a nation of animal lovers... yes indeed.

The cast accurately shows a dog in its death throes. Detail is visible on the cast of the chain that secured the animal to its tethering which made escape impossible. The same fate befell many others on that day, over two thousand bodies of humans and animals. Putting our love of animals aside for a moment, the first rooms of the museum at Pompeii pull no punches with real human tragedies captured in heartbreaking detail. The futile efforts of fathers trying to protect infants and even a clearly pregnant woman in death.

The nature of the casting process is such that the last moments of these victims of the volcano are so much more relatable that those of individuals whose remains have passed down through history as disarticulated skeletons in a grave plot. The panic and pain are tangible in these casts and it is near impossible not to feel some connection despite the passage of two millennia.

Whilst the casts are a very graphic reminder of the fact that this was the site of a real human tragedy on a colossal scale, the site of Pompeii offers us so much more as well. In the title of this post, I mentioned that this was a tragedy that was at the same time a gift for the world and I really believe that to be the case. Pompeii and Herculaneum offer a unique insight into every day Roman culture from the super wealthy traders in their grand houses right down to the slaves that endured terrible working conditions to make bread for the population of the city. It really is all here in often very mundane but magnificently preserved detail. I cannot for the life of me imagine getting enthralled by the discovery of the first Kentucky Fried Chicken outlet, but show me the Roman equivalent and I can be bowled over!

The photograph below shows just such a fast food outlet in an AD79 style. Holes in the work surfaces would have contained vessels containing soups and stews where citizens going about their daily business would have stopped for lunch, rather than returning to the family home, i.e. in exactly the same way that people work in towns and cities today. 

As a write this we in the UK are five weeks away from a General Election and election fever and all of the incumbent nonsense that such an event entails is upon us. Thus it was for the Romans as well. The museum houses an early campaign wall painting promoting a candidate.

Electoral slogans by those seeking power and influence in Pompeii competed for wall space with political protest... again a distant echo of the situation that prevails in urban areas today.

At this point I cannot but be reminded of a scene of protest from Python's 'Life of Brian'!

'Romani ite domum'

In terms of domesticity and the routine of daily life the baths are something to be held too. The sophistication of the engineering that enabled the construction of the baths, social hubs of their day, such that users had access to a progression from hot room (Calidarium), to the warm room (Tepidarium) and finally the cold room for refreshment (Frigidarium) is still a marvel. The decor in these communal buildings is also phenomenal. As seen from these images from one of the city's baths for women.

One last word on Pompeii. Shortly before our visit, the BBC screened a three part documentary focused on some recent, very significant excavations at the site (Pompeii: The New Dig). As well as unearthing some tremendous finds which again shed light on the social structure of this most successful of Roman cities, the series also postulated a new (at least to me) theory about the fate of the inhabitants.

Many of the roads in Pompeii are scarred with deep furrows in the massive cobbles created by the passage of cart wheels over centuries (see below).

Cart wheel grooves can be seen across the centre of the photo.

An idea has been put forward that given this reliance on horse and cart to transport goods throughout the bustling city if the eruption of Vesuvius killed every man and beast in the city why have the remains of so few horses and carts been uncovered to date (and why have only a couple of thousand bodies been discovered in a city of an estimated 20-20 thousand when 70 percent of the site has been subject to excavation?) This leads to the theory that more inhabitants were able to flee the city to create new post-eruption lives in Naples.

I am sure that Pompeii will keep on offering gifts of understanding as to the lives of the ancient Romans for centuries to come. It's well worth seeking out on iPlayer.

One last photo... I know, trying to be arty with an iphone!

A view along one of the main thoroughfares with Vesuvius looming in the background. It just so happened that a cloud formation was above the volcano.... but it looks good!

Remembering J.E.R. Young and C. C. Taylor 37 (Home Defence) Squadron, Royal Flying Corps Killed in Action on 7th July 1917

As mentioned in the previous post, two airmen of 37 (HD) Squadron were killed in action against the enemy. Second Lieutenant John Edward Rostron Young and Air Mechanic Second Class Cyril Charles Taylor lost their lives when engaging a large force of Gotha bombers during a daylight raid on Saturday 7th July 1917. Both men died in the same aircraft, a Sopwith 1 1/2 Strutter 2-seater. Taylor was the observer and Young the pilot. This aircraft was one of many that were sent up from several aerodromes across Essex and Kent (nearly 100 machines were reported were reported as attempting to engage the enemy aircraft). Planes from all three sections of 37 (HD) Squadron (A Flight (Rochford), B Flight (Stow Maries) and C Flight (Goldhanger)) were airborne that morning. Young and Taylor's aircraft took of from Rochford on the fateful morning.

The raiders on that day consisted of 22 Gotha bombers, a huge force participating in a second attack on the capital. 

A Gotha heavy bomber

The fate of the two young airmen's Sopwith is described in the following contemporary newspaper report that appeared in the 13th July 1917 edition of the Streatham News, Balham and Tooting News and Borough of Wandsworth Chronicle.

What rather surprised me about this account was the level of detail provided to the father of the pilot, John Young, that alluded to the fact that at the time that his strickened aircraft plummeted into the sea, poor John's body would have been 'riddled with bullets'. My guess is that these words, provided to grieving parents, in a letter from the young officer's Commanding Officer would have been intended to convey the fact that in the face of such overwhelming enemy fire power, John Young's death would have been quick, clean and painless. That a newspaper printed such detail is perhaps more surprising given the potential negative impact that such detailed reporting could have on the readership. Note also that the reporting journalist refers to the account being that of a 'thrilling story of a young Streatham airman’s attack...'. I'd like to think that after more than a century of warfare subsequent to The Great War, modern writers would steer clear of Victor comic book style reporting. But that is just my opinion. 

Streatham News, Balham and Tooting News and Borough of Wandsworth Chronicle

13th July 1917

It is with feelings of profound and justifiable pride, tempered unfortunately by keen and sincere regret that so noble and gallant an officer should have won renown at the expense of his life, that our readers will read the following thrilling story of a young Streatham airman’s attack on a whole squadron of enemy airmen.

The Spartan fortitude and unselfish patriotism with which the sorely bereaved father of so heroic a son has braced himself to pen a modest tribute to his boy, and at the same time a brave and inspiriting message of emulation, will, we are sure, make a strong appeal to the sympathy and respect of all who read his introductory letter as follows:-

SIR, - At a time like the present, when the feeling of insecurity and indignation regarding our foul enemy and his infernal methods runs strong in the City and elsewhere, the circumstances attending the death last Saturday, the 7th inst., of my dear son, 2nd Lieut. John E. R. Young, R.F.C., in the performance of his duty, will be read with interest and – speaking for myself at any rate – with profound gratitude. The enclosed letter I received today from the Commander of his squadron, entirely unsolicited, will serve to assure us all that our splendid boys, who from their point of view have the privilege, have also the will and the pluck to put up noble efforts for our protection and for the defeat of the vilest enemy in all history.

Many other equally brave boys have been taken from this district, and I should not intrude upon the public with a personal letter regarding my poor son were it not that I think that it will be appreciated and do good at this time. Believing, as I do, that we have lots of the same material, and that my son was just one of many willing to face certain death in order to help stamp out the enemies of civilization, the subjoined letter from my son’s commander may help to inspire confidence and the hope that our defences will soon be complete and the enemy’s atrocious methods frustrated. – Your, etc..

W. S. YOUNG

76 Mitcham Lane, Streatham.

July 10th, 1917

_____________________

A Town in Essex

DEAR MR YOUNG,

It is with the deepest regret and sympathy that I have to write and inform you of your son’s death, which took place on Saturday during enemy aircraft attack on this country.

Your son, as you know, had only been in my squadron a short time, but quite long enough for me to realize what a very efficient and gallant officer he was, and what a tremendous loss he is to me. He had absolutely the heart of a lion, and he was a very good pilot.

Your son has been up on every raid of late, and has always managed to get in contact with the enemy machine. The last raid, which unfortunately resulted in his death, shows what a very gallant officer we have lost. Almost single-handed he he flew straight into the middle of the 22 machines and both he and his observer at once opened fire. All the enemy machines opened fire also, so he was horribly outnumbered. The volume of fire to which he was subjected to was too awful for words. (To give you a rough idea. There were 22 machines. Each machine had four guns. Each gun was firing about 400 rounds per minute). Your son never hesitated in the slightest. He flew straight on until, as I should imagine, he must have been riddled with bullets. The machine then put its nose right up in the air and fell over and went spinning down into the sea from 14,000 feet. The machine sank so quickly that it was, I regret, impossible to save your son’s body, he was so badly entangled with wires etc. H.M.S. ___________ rushed to the spot as soon as possible but only arrived in time to pick up your son’s observer, who, I regret to state, is also dead. He was wounded six times and had a double fracture of the skull.

I cannot speak too highly of the magnificent behaviour of your son, all that I can say is that he was a most gallant officer, and I am proud to think that he was in my command. 

I hope that you and your family will accept my sincerest sympathy of all his brother officers, in your great loss. ---- Yours sincerely,

___________, Major.

Sec. Lieut. John Edward Rostron Young, who was 19 ½ years of age, was educated at Streatham Grammar School.

John is memorialised in Southend-On-Sea's (North Road) Cemetery.

(Photo: Jacqui Roberts)

'WHO WAS KILLED BY THE NORE LIGHT IN BRAVE ATTACK ON 22 RAIDING GOTHAS AND WHOSE BODY WAS NOT RECOVERED.'

But let us not forget the other 37 (HD) Squadron fatality on that day, John's observer, Air Mechanic Second Class Cyril Charles Taylor. 

I have no other newspaper references concerning the death of Cyril other than the mention the recovery of his fatally wounded body from the sea by the Royal Navy vessel. So the information that follows are the result of research by the Stow Maries' volunteers.

Cyril was born in June 1897 in the Hampstead area of North London. Prior to joining up he worked as an apprentice plumber. In uniform he served a year as a bandsman with the 3/9th Middlesex Regiment, prior to enlisting with the Royal Flying Corps on 8th March 1916. 

Although the date of his being stationed with 37 (HD) Squadron is not known it is believed that me may have been part of the unit's orchestra. As described by his Commanding Officer, Cyril's body was recovered from the crash site with terrible injuries. The recovering vessel has been identified as H.M.S. Wolfe.

Cyril's body was returned to North London and he lies in Hampstead Cemetery. Cyril was 20 years of age.

Air Mechanic Second Class Cyril Charles Taylor

Both John and Cyril are commemorated side by side on the Stow Maries memorial to the fallen of 37 (HD) Squadron.

There is a footnote to this story that for obvious reasons was not raised at the time of Mr Young's correspondence with the Streatham News. It has been postulated that Second Lieutenant's Young's Sopwith was not downed in a hail of Gotha machine gun fire but rather by a shell fired by a Royal Navy vessel, an early example of so-called 'friendly fire'. 

A thread on the excellent The Great War (1914-1918) Forum concerning the response to the 7th July 1917 Gotha raid on London gives a number of reasons why this may be so: 

• The Gothas were at a height of at least 14,000 feet and Young would not have attained this height until 10 to 15 minutes after the Gothas had crossed the coast (making a crash into the sea impossible).
• No 37 (HD) Squadron personnel reported a colleague going down.
• Young’s aircraft fell near the Maplin lightship and observers on the ship believed that it had been hit by an AA shell burst.
• A signal of “obscure origin” amongst the day’s reports mentioned a belief that a shell had shot down a defending aircraft.
• A 37 (HD) Squadron pilot reported that the AA fire had been a considerable hindrance.
• The Germans reported just one defending aircraft being shot down, presumably Salmon (the other British fatality in the raid). Second Lieutenant W.G. Salmon of No. 63 Training Squadron took off in a Sopwith Scout from Dartford Aerodrome.
• General Henderson reported to CIGS on 14 July that the RFC could not continue to take the risk of being shot down by our own guns while attacking the enemy.

With approaching 100 British fighter aircraft and 22 Gotha bombers blazing at each other, not to mention the skyward projectiles being launched from vessels below, the situation as viewed from sea level or the air must have been bewildering to say the least. 

With the passage of 105 years since this early 'dogfight' over the Essex/Kent coast it is highly unlikely that the true fate of Young's Sopwith will ever be known. But, 105 years down the line such detail is rather irrelevant, a detail in one of many thousands of Great War unknowns. The important fact that is as clear today as it was on 7th July 1917 is that the young men of 37 (HD) Squadron were prepared to tackle superior hostile airborne forces against great odds in order to protect the civilian population of London and the coastal towns of the East Coast. Many paid the ultimate price.