Symbols & Secrets – Walking the City of London

‘The Bloody Code – Capital Punishment in Law and Art’ – an exhibition at the Barbican Library. And Lucien Freud’s dogs.

On 10th September 2026

In Animals, Social History, Special Exhibitions

Before visiting the exhibition, I thought I would do a bit of research and found some really interesting information on the National Justice Museum website.

The system known as the Bloody Code was established in Britain in 1723 and imposed the death penalty for over 200 offences – many of which were surprisingly trivial.

Introduced under The Waltham Black Act, it was brought in as an emergency measure to deal with deer-stealing, and other activities in the royal forests, by men who disguised themselves by blacking their faces. It was sweeping in its scope, making more than fifty distinct offences capital for seven different group of offenders. Under the Bloody Code, the technical minimum age at which a child could be executed was seven years old provided the court found evidence of “malice” and criminal intent. Those aged seven to fourteen could face trial and capital punishment like adults if the prosecution proved they understood the difference between right and wrong.

The death sentence was also given out for a broad range of other rustic crimes such as damaging orchards, gardens, or cattle, with penalties attached to conspiring to commit any of these crimes or rescuing anyone imprisoned for these crimes. Between 1750 and 1815 a series of Acts/Statutes were added to the number of offences punishable by death, bringing the number to more than 200.

Examining a Sheep Stealer (not in the exhibition) …

As well as sheep stealing, some of the other offences attracting the death penalty were as follows: Murder/Arson/ Forgery/Cutting down trees/Stealing horses/Destroying turnpike roads/Stealing from a rabbit warren/Pickpocketing goods worth a shilling (about £30 today)/Being out at night with a blackened face/Being an unmarried mother concealing a stillborn child/Stealing from a shipwreck/Wrecking a fishpond.

There is no apparent definitive list of all 225 offences. But as each singular offence was added with its own statute, it was no wonder the number of capital offences grew to over 200.

However, it’s also worth noting that juries were often unwilling to find people guilty, so that offenders could escape the noose. Evidence suggests that fewer people were actually hanged under the Bloody Code than before it.

After much campaigning, social reformer Sir Samuel Romilly succeeded in repealing the death penalty for some minor crimes, and as the century progressed transportation became a more popular mode of punishment.

This exhibition explores the history of legalised killing and abolition movements by pairing historical publications from City archives with contemporary artistic responses.

Key highlights include 25 protest prints from California’s Center for the Study of Political Graphics, as well as historical broadsides and volumes sourced from various City libraries and archives.

Single sheets of cheap paper printed on one side only, broadsides were a common means of communication for close to three hundred years, up through the early 1800s. They were first used to post notices of royal proclamations and later expanded into notices of events, advertisements, ballad sheets, and political commentaries. Illustrations made from woodcuts were common, as pictures added interest.

Executions, ‘final words’ and ‘confessions’ were a common and very popular subject and there are some really good examples in this exhibition …

This is a tragic story …

Trial and execution broadsheets often included ‘copies of affecting verses’ or ‘last lamentations’, purported to be written by the criminals themselves, which linked the sentimental poet and the violent murderer. They were usually claimed to be ‘written from the depths of the condemned cell’ and discovered by the guards on the floor of the empty cell shortly before the execution. This publisher’s trick led one Victorian commentator to proclaim, “Every man who is hanged leaves a poem”.

John Any Bell’s sentence has the added horror of the body being handed over for dissection. This was intended to discourage the use by surgeons of ‘resurrection men’ who disinterred bodies from graves and sold them for medical practice.

In the 19th century, the public viewed anatomical dissection with immense horror, seeing it not as a scientific endeavour, but as a gruesome violation of the human soul and a terrifying legal punishment. The primary source of dread was rooted in deep religious convictions regarding the afterlife. These popular beliefs concerned the ‘Resurrection of the Flesh’, in which the whole body was resurrected on Judgement Day, so a person needed to be buried intact.

Fanny Amlett was a grazier’s daughter who was ‘basely seduced by a NAVAL OFFICER who deserted her when she became pregnant’. The scoundrel is shown in the woodcut. ‘Without human assistance, in a lonely place, she brought forth a lovely child. In a fit of despair, and scarce knowing what she did, drowned her new-born -babe for which she was brought to trial and EXECUTED’ …

Starting in the early eighteenth century, more laws were passed concerning forgery than any other crime. Given the growing commercial economy’s reliance on paper credit, both in the form of government currency and in notes of credit offered by private parties, forgery posed a “peculiarly subversive threat” with the potential to topple the entire economic system.

In 1797, a shortage of gold bullion pushed the Bank of England to begin issuing paper notes in smaller denominations of one and two pounds, without being backed up by gold reserves. With the wide circulation of these bills came a rise in forgeries, and forgery prosecutions. From 1805 to 1818, convicted forgers or counterfeiters represented almost one in three people executed in London and Middlesex, and one in five across England and Wales.

After the death penalty was handed down to this gentleman the report tells us ‘Some of the Jury wept’ …

More about the exhibition …

Some of the CSPG prints on display.

Reject Barbarism, Maria van Venrooy, 2022. Newark, Delaware …

Death Code, Mario Fuentes, 2022, Ecuador …

How long will we let them kill us, Josh MacPhee, 1997, Chicago …

A hard-hitting and thought provoking exhibition. It’s open until 28 October and is well worth a visit.

In other news.

I popped over to Kensington for a bit of a change of scenery and saw a couple of interesting sights as I strolled down Kensington Church Street.

I noticed at pavement level this little work of art that might have been created using a stencil. It shows two dogs called Eli and Pluto …

It turns out that they are the famous pet whippets of the renowned British realist painter Lucian Freud, who lived and worked at 138 Kensington Church Street and on whose wall they are painted. From the late 1970s until his death in 2011, this Georgian townhouse served as Freud’s home and art studio. His house is the one on the left …

An etching by Freud of Pluto, aged twelve, (2000) …

And Eli, 2002 …

Eli, 2002, oil on canvas …

Freud admired whippets for their ‘lack of arrogance, ready eagerness, and animal pragmatism’. Was he responsible for the little memorial outside his house? No one seems to know.

Across the road is the Churchill Arms pub, famous for its massive floral exterior that reportedly costs around £25,000 a year to maintain …

The building is covered by roughly 100 flower tubs, 42 hanging baskets, and 48 window boxes. In winter, the flowers are swapped for a massive Christmas display featuring around 90 trees and thousands of lights …

Photograph: Sarah Lee/The Guardian

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Back at Hampstead Cemetery. A poem to make you smile, the lovely Marie Lloyd and some surprises.

By The City Gent

On 3rd September 2026

In Animals, Memorials

What better way to start a blog with a poem to make you smile.

Charles Cowper Ross (1929-1985) presented many plays and revues, the best known of which being Toad of Toad Hall (1964 and successive years) …

Who’s Who in the Theatre listed his recreations as squash, golf and starting businesses!

The epitaph on his grave marker shows a man with a great sense of humour (and a realist). He describes himself as ‘A Man of the Theatre’ and there follows this poem …

What will be said
When I am dead
Of what I used to do?
They liked my smile?
I failed with style?
Or, more than likely: “Who?”

Well, Charles, we know who you are now. And quite right too!

Nearby is the grave of an immensely popular performer …

Matilda Alice Victoria Wood (12 February 1870 – 7 October 1922), professionally known as Marie Lloyd, was an English music hall singer, comedian and musical theatre actress. She was best known for her performances of songs such as “The Boy I Love Is Up in the Gallery“, “Don’t Dilly Dally on the Way” and “Oh Mr Porter What Shall I Do“. She received both criticism and praise for her use of innuendo and double entendre during her performances.

My favourite example is when complaints were made about her song She sits among the cabbages and peas she changed the lyrics to She sits among the cabbages and leeks.

The image usually used in articles about her …

On stage in the 1890s …

By 1891 Lloyd was a household name, pulling in large crowds at halls across Britain, and starring in the Theatre Royal at Drury Lane’s Christmas pantomimes alongside stars such as Dan Leno. As her star continued to rise, her agent reported that Lloyd was fully booked up for years at the best houses across the UK, and that her salary ran from £250-£300 a week, sometimes as much as £700 a week at the height of her career.

Despite her successes, Lloyd had a troubled personal life. She was married three times, and experienced domestic abuse during two of them. She married Percy Charles Courtenay in 1887, but the marriage was unhappy, and filled with violence, drunkenness and jealousy. The couple divorced in 1894, after Courtenay discovered that Lloyd had started an affair with fellow performer Alec Hurley. Hurley and Lloyd married in 1906, however the pair were effectively separated by 1910 after they had consistent marital problems. Lloyd began an open and passionate affair with Bernard Dillon, a jockey. Hurley initiated divorce proceedings in 1911. Sadly the relationship between Lloyd and Dillon was not a happy one, marred by Dillon’s jealousy, heavy drinking, and gambling addiction. Despite this they married in 1914. He was violent and abusive throughout the rest of Lloyd’s life.

In the later years of her life, Lloyd was in financial trouble (in part due to Dillon’s gambling debts) and needed to work in order to get by. Her drinking and ill health made her less and less reliable, sometimes only performing for a fraction of the time that she was scheduled. She began to forget her lines and would sometimes stumble on the stage, so much so that stagehands would be asked to be on call to help her if she became unsteady. In order to save money, in early 1922 she moved in with her sister Daisy, and by the time of her death Lloyd was virtually penniless. She died at her residence in Golders Green, 7^th October 1922 at the age of 52.

Lloyd’s funeral was held at Hampstead Cemetery on 12 October, 1922. More than 50,000 people turned out on the streets of Hampstead to watch her funeral cortège. It was estimated that 120,000 people visited her grave in the following weeks, with queues stretching out from the cemetery gates.

Many newspapers and fellow performers paid tribute to Lloyd in the days after her death. T.S. Eliot wrote a moving tribute to her in The Criterion of January 1923. He said of Lloyd…

“Marie Lloyd was the greatest music hall artist in England: she was also the most popular… It is evidence of the extent to which she represented and expressed that part of the English nation which has perhaps the greatest vitality and interest… Whereas other comedians amuse their audiences as much and sometimes more than Marie Lloyd, no other comedian succeeded so well in giving expression to the life of that audience, in raising it to kind of art.”

Sadly, the inscription on her tomb is now almost illegible, but reads:

IN LOVING MEMORY OF OUR DARLING SISTER
MARIE LLOYD
BORN FEB. 12th 1870
DIED OCT. 7th 1922
DAUGHTER OF JOHN AND MATILDA WOOD

TIRED SHE WAS, AND SHE WOULDN’T SHOW IT.
SUFFERING SHE WAS, AND HOPED WE DIDN’T KNOW IT.
BUT HE WHO LOVED HER KNEW, AND, UNDERSTANDING ALL,
PRESCRIBED LONG REST, AND GAVE THE FINAL CALL.

I expected to see some eminent people in this cemetery but wasn’t expecting a three-time Prime Minister of Australia. This is the tomb of Andrew Fisher (1862-1928) …

He was the fifth Prime Minister of Australia and one of the most important early leaders of the Australian Labor Party. Born in Crosshouse, Scotland, Fisher began working in coal mines when he was only ten years old. He later became involved in trade union activities before migrating to Queensland, Australia, in 1885. There he became a prominent miners’ leader and entered politics.

He was elected to the Queensland Parliament in 1893 and later became a member of the first Australian Federal Parliament in 1901, representing Wide Bay in Queensland. He became leader of the Labor Party in 1907 and served as Prime Minister three times: from 1908–1909, 1910–1913, and 1914–1915.

Fisher’s second period as Prime Minister was particularly important. His government introduced many reforms and passed more than 100 pieces of legislation. It established the Commonwealth Bank, introduced maternity allowances, improved pensions, and provided workers’ compensation for Commonwealth employees. His government also helped develop Australia’s defence forces, transport system and federal administration. Fisher strongly supported the development of Canberra as Australia’s national capital.

The Parliament House portrait of Fisher by E. Phillips Fox, 1913 …

Fisher became Prime Minister for the third time in 1914, shortly after the outbreak of the First World War.

His government organised Australia’s early military contribution to the war, including sending Australian troops overseas. However, the pressures of wartime leadership affected his health, and he resigned as Prime Minister in October 1915.

After leaving politics, he became Australia’s High Commissioner in London …

He died in London on 22 October 1928, aged 66.

If a Prime Minister was a surprise, so was finding the tomb of the grandson of Tsar Nicholas I of Russia, Grand Duke Michael Mikhailovich, and his wife Sophy, Countess de Torby …

Also surprising was its very plain design.

He was raised in the Caucasus, where he lived between 1862 and 1881 with his family, was educated by private tutors and, as Romanov tradition demanded, he follow a military career.

Grand Duke Michael (on the right) with his eldest brother Nicholas, Baden, 1876 …

He served in the Russo-Turkish War in 1877, became a Colonel and was adjutant at the Imperial court. In 1891 he contracted a morganatic marriage with Countess Sophie von Merenberg, a morganatic daughter of Prince Nicholas William of Nassau and a granddaughter of the Russian poet Alexander Pushkin. His punishment was severe. For contracting this marriage without permission, Emperor Alexander III of Russia stripped him of his military titles and banished the couple from the Russian Empire.

For some years he lived in Wiesbaden, Nassau and in Cannes (as you do) before settling permanently in England in 1900, leasing Keele Hall in Staffordshire.

Grand Duke Michael and family on the steps of Keele Hall …

This image of Michael and his children, also at Keele, is taken from The Good Grave Guide to Hampstead Cemetery, so it’s a photo of a photo and not very clear, but it’s such a wonderful pose I had to include it …

After leaving Keele, they rented Kenwood House from the Earl of Mansfield from 1910 to 1917 at an annual rent of £2,200 (about £210,000 in today’s money) and shared the property with their three children Nadeja (Nada), Anastasia (Zia) and Michael, plus numerous dogs. The Grand Duke in 1910 …

They carried out extensive renovations to Kenwood, including electric lights along the drive, and entertained lavishly. One such dinner and ball was reported by the Ham & High newspaper just before the outbreak of War, where it was noted that the drives and grounds were brilliantly illuminated and the rooms – already luxuriously furnished – were filled with plants and flowers whilst a Viennese orchestra played in the Orangery. Supper was served in a marquee hung with pink and green draperies outlined with gold
mouldings on the South Terrace, overlooking the lake.

A similar event held in 1914 was attended by the King and Queen, who came again two years later to attend the wedding of Nada to Prince George of Battenberg (later Mountbatten), the Marquis of Milford Haven.

A year later Kenwood hosted another glittering gathering, when Zia married Major Harold Wernher, who inherited Luton Hoo in Bedfordshire …

Michael and his wife were well known for their philanthropy. In 1913 he donated a motor ambulance to Hampstead Hospital, and in 1914 he started a movement to supply the troops at the front with warm gloves. A year later he allowed Kenwood to be used as the barracks for the newly established Royal Naval Anti Aircraft Brigade, organised by the Admiralty.

The Grand Duke and the Countess at home …

A keen sportsman, he built a golf course and cricket pitch in the grounds and also opened a high diving board at Highgate Ponds in the hope that it could be used to train Olympic divers. However, the only evidence that remains of his residence a Kenwood are the headstones of two of the family dogs, Bill and Mac.

The Russian Revolution in 1917 took a heavy toll on the family’s fortunes. Their income had been derived from the Borjomi mineral water plant on the family estates in Georgia, which after modernisation was producing a third of a million bottles a year by 1913. Following the confiscation of the estates by the Bolsheviks, the Grand Duke was left virtually penniless and had to rely on the charity of his wealthy son-in-law. The family was obliged to leave Kenwood in 1917 and move to a (comparatively) modest house at Cambridge
Gate, Regent’s Park.

The loss of many relatives – three of his brothers were murdered by the Bolsheviks – and his straitened circumstances appeared to take their toll on the Grand Duke’s spirits and he is reported to have become troublesome and short-tempered with his wife and with servants. In September 1927, his wife died aged fifty-nine. King George V wrote a letter of condolence and the
Prince of Wales attended the funeral. The Grand Duke survived her by less than two years and died of influenza in 1929.

Another image of the Grand Duke with all his children including their only son Count Michael …

Michael was subject to bouts of depression but found some success as a painter mostly of still lifes and luxuriant garden landscapes, a far cry from the developing avant-garde movements of the family’s native Russia. He was also active as a theatrical and fashion designer. He died unmarried in Roehampton in 1959 and was buried beside his parents.

Resting near to one another are members of the Forte family …

Famous as hoteliers and restaurateurs, they originally came from Montforte, a hilltop village in Italy. Rocco Forte married Maria Luigia in 1908 and in 1911 he emigrated to Scotland, opening a café in Alloa. His wife and son Charles followed two years later. Charles subsequently returned to school in Italy, but decided he wanted to follow his father’s business. He studied book-keeping, started a café in Weston-super-Mare and opened his first London premises, a ‘Milk Bar’ in Upper Regent Street in 1935. The successful business expanded to include the Café Royal and the Waldorf Hotel, and became Trusthouse Forte, a worldwide catering empire.

Charles was knighted in 1970 and became Baron Forte of Ripley in Surrey in 1982. He died aged 98 on 28 February 2007.

Charles Forte in 1977 …

What about this Grade II listed monument? The Hampstead Cemetery Good Grave Guide describes it as ‘a stone figure of a woman in flowing robes balancing on a globe reaching up to touch a flower-filled urn on a column. Symbolically the pose indicates a rejection of worldly pleasures’ … …

And an intriguing inscription …

A short notice in the Daily Mail of 24 August 1928 gives a few more details …

Here is a report from the New York Time of 25 August 1928 headed :

‘ARDATH DE SALES, DANCER, DIES AT SEA; Seattle Girl Was on Her Way to London to See Her Sister Appear in a New Revue.

LONDON, Aug. 24 (P).—Ardath De Sales, American actress from Seattle on her way from New York to England to see her sister, Miss Adrienne Ash, take part in the first performance tomorrow night of a new revue, died today on the steamer Homeric. Death followed an operation for appendicitis.

Miss De Sales was an accomplished toe dancer, and she had appeared with Pavlova at the Metropolitan Opera in New York. Here in London she was known for her work in “Mercenary Mary” and in “Princess Charming.”

She was apparently in excellent health when she boarded the liner in New York last Saturday, but was taken ill the following evening. Her sister was in the midst of a rehearsal when news of the death was telephoned to her.’

Some of the online images of Miss De Sales …

Unfortunately, I have not been able to discover who commissioned and paid for her beautiful monument.

I paused at the war memorial to both World Wars and the individual graves beyond …

So many young lives lost …

I am sure readers will have noticed by now that Hampstead Cemetery offers almost endless opportunities for blogging, but I have reminded myself that am supposed to be concentrating on the City of London! So that’s what I shall try and do next week.

If you want to explore Hampstead Cemetery yourself I cannot recommend more highly the Good Grave Guide …

It is packed with information about the residents along with great maps based on aerial photographs …

You can buy it here from the Camden History Society.

Finally, I’ll leave you with a selection of Hampstead angels …

In other news, Barbican denizens.

Loitering with intent …

Watching the world go by …

He actually climbed into the bin but was out before I could photograph him inside …

Something I didn’t know before, coots actually eat the reeds on the lake (or appear to) …

Algae is definitely more accessible …

But you have to share space with the ducks …

And now City of London denizens, a gathering outside Guildhall with many robes in evidence …

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Hampstead Cemetery Residents.

By The City Gent

On 27th August 2026

In Memorials

My parents are at rest in Hampstead Cemetery and so I visit occasionally but have never really taken a long look around. I decided to put this right this week when the weather was a bit cooler and this blog is the result.

I knew some famous people were buried there but, unfortunately, there is only one map of the place online and that seems to be a photograph of a map in a glass case, so it’s not very clear …

Anyway, I set out optimistically and found a few of the highlights.

The prize for most stunning memorial must probably go to this tomb …

The splendid Grade II listed Art Deco Bianchi memorial was created by Cesare Bianchi for his wife Martha who died in 1936 giving birth to her second child. The memorial is set in a large triangular plot that had wrought iron railings and a gate until they were stolen by thieves in 2011. A futurist angel stands with wings outstretched over a gateway inscribed with the name Bianchi …

On either side of the gateway are carved relief panels, one showing Martha ascending to heaven accompanied by wingless angels …

… the other showing Martha and Cesare, apparently reunited in the afterlife, sitting on a bench with Martha finally cradling the baby she presumably never got to hold before she died …

The entry of Italy into the war in June 1940 was a disaster for the family. Despite living for 27 years in Britain, fighting on the same side in the great war, and being a father to a young motherless family, Cesare found himself interned by the British Government as an enemy alien. At the end of June he was in Liverpool, waiting to board a boat for an internment camp in Canada, the British authorities apparently believing that only removal to another continent would ensure that the ex pat Italian community would be unable to help the Axis war effort. Not our finest hour.

On the 30 June Cesare joined 734 other interned Italian men on the SS Arandora Star along with 479 interned Germans and 86 German PoWs, all bound for St John’s Newfoundland. The ship was torpedoed by a U Boat on 2 July. 805 people drowned, but Cesare survived, was returned to Liverpool, and subsequently interned on the Isle of Man until 1942. He subsequently found work in Smithfield Market but was tragically killed when a V2 rocket hit the site on 8 March 1945. Cesare was buried with other victims of the V2 in the City of London Cemetery in Manor Park. He would have certainly wanted to be buried with his wife but the circumstances of his death made that impossible

I am indebted to the brilliant London Dead blog for these details about Cesare and Martha.

This is the tomb of Henry Brodribb Irving (5 August 1870 – 17 October 1919), a British stage actor and actor manager and the eldest son of Sir Henry Irving and his wife Florence …

He liked to be known as H B Irvine to distinguish his career from his father’s …

He initially studied and practised law before committing to acting. During World War I he withdrew from the theatre and returned to the law, writing the study for which he is now most famous, A Book of Remarkable Criminals, originally published in 1918, which examined the lives, motivations and crimes of some infamous murderers. He had already published Life of Judge Jeffreys, and Studies of French Criminals and other papers on the subject. After spending twenty years of his life dedicated to the theatre, his greatest success came from being what it was originally intended he should be, a legal expert.

There is a poem inscribed on slate incorporated in the memorial …

It’s entitled Say not the struggle nought availeth and you can find it here if the image is hard to read. There is also an analysis of the poem and more about the author here.

You could easily walk past this grave …

… and not realise that it is the resting place of a man considered by many to be the father of modern surgery, Joseph Lister (1827-1912) …

In the mid 19^th Century it was highly possible that you would survive an operation, only to die from a post-operative infection. Ether had been first introduced as an anaesthetic in surgery in 1846, reducing the chances of patients dying of pain or shock, but the risk of post-operative death was still significant and it was Joseph Lister in 1865 who introduced the concept of antisepsis in surgery. He introduced carbolic hand washes for surgical staff, carbolic acid baths for instruments and carbolic acid spray to reduce the level of germs in the air. In just three years Lister reduced the death rate in his patients from 47% to 15%.

Lister circa 1890 …

‘He was courteous to all, but sheltered himself behind a natural reserve which many attributed to shyness. A lover of home life and very simple in his tastes, he maintained to the last evidence of his Quaker upbringing by using ‘thou’ and ‘thee’ when writing familiarly to members of his family. No lover of money, he proportioned his fees to what he thought a patient could afford rather than what it was right or customary to charge, and he never, therefore, acquired wealth.’ His modest tomb probably reflects his Quaker beliefs.

You can read a superb biography here. And see some fascinating material from the Lister archives here, including his version of a PowerPoint presentation …

Then there is this medical gentleman …

The following text is taken from the book ‘The Good Grave Guide to
Hampstead Cemetery, Fortune Green’ by Marianne Colloms and Dick
Weindling.
One of the pioneers of radiology in the UK, Morgan’s work so badly damaged
his hands that he had to give it up. He joined the Cunard Line in 1897 as
Examining Officer based at Liverpool, with responsibility for all the emigrants and other passengers to America. In 1910 he became medical superintendent and by introducing better equipment and more highly trained personnel, he greatly improved the standard of medical care at sea. He worked for Cunard until he retired in 1926 and came to live in London. Appropriately, the only wreath at his funeral was of blue and white flowers in the shape of the ‘Blue Peter’, the flag flown by a ship leaving port.

The elegant tomb of James Wilson Pasha (1831-1906). ‘Pasha’ was a title given to a man of high rank or office in the Ottoman Empire and North Africa. It was the highest official title of honour, always used with a proper name, which it followed. It was given to soldiers and high civil officials, not to men of religion, and was purely personal and not hereditary …

Wilson was a British engineer who played a key role in Egypt’s 19th-century industrial expansion under Khedive Ismail. Trained in Britain, he entered Egyptian government service in the early 1860s and became chief engineer during a period of ambitious modernisation. Wilson was closely involved in the planning and management of large public works, most notably extensive sugar manufacturing enterprises central to Egypt’s economic strategy. His work combined engineering design with large-scale administration and logistics. Awarded the honorary title “Pasha,” he later returned to Britain, where he died in 1906, remembered for his contribution to Egypt’s industrial development.

The Frankau family memorial is in every sense a monumental piece of Art-Deco, Grade II listed by English Heritage in 1999 …

You can read more about this fascinating family and the memorial here and here.

Sometimes I read a memorial and am immediately committed to finding out more. This was one of them …

In close up …

John Kensit (1853–1902) was a prominent English Protestant campaigner and founder of the Protestant Truth Society. He became well known for his opposition to Anglo-Catholic ritualism within the Church of England, which he believed was bringing Catholic practices back into Protestant worship. His campaigns were often controversial and contributed to religious tensions in Liverpool.

John Kensit …

On 25 September 1902, he travelled to Birkenhead to address a Protestant meeting at Claughton Music Hall. As he and his companions left the meeting, they passed through a hostile crowd. A heavy metal file or chisel was thrown and struck Kensit above the left eye, causing a serious wound. He was taken to Liverpool Royal Infirmary.

Although he initially appeared to recover, he later developed pneumonia and blood poisoning. He died in hospital on 8 October 1902, aged 49. A man called John McKeever was accused of throwing the weapon and was charged with Kensit’s murder but was ultimately acquitted at the Liverpool Assizes, with the legal proceedings noting that Kensit’s death was directly triggered by the subsequent illness rather than the impact itself.

The Rider family grave …

As the topmost bronze plaque makes clear, Alice Lousia and William Robert Rider has this monument created after the death of their nineteen-year-old son, Walter Arthur Rider, in 1901. The father was interred here after his death in 1916, when he was 35, and the mother after her death in 1960 — 59 years after the death of the son.

The design of the grave has an Art Deco look but the copper lettering harks back to the earlier Art Nouveau style.

The grave of Captain Bertram Lewis Lima (1880-1919), a newspaper publisher, who became, under the Harmsworth publishing dynasty, Chairman of the Daily Mirror and the Sunday Pictorial …

The inscription reads: To the glory of God and in loving memory of Capt. Sir Bertram Lewis Lima KBE. … And then to die so young and leave unfinished what he might achieve!

Unusual to see an exclamation mark on a memorial but, I think, very appropriate for a journalist!

I think this is probably a portrait from the newspaper archive …

The grave of another publisher, Sir Arthur Pearson (1866-1921) …

At the age of 18 he beat 3,000 other people to win a general knowledge quiz. The prize was a job at the journal Tit-Bits – a position that proved to be the start of a very lucrative publishing career …

Five years later in 1889 Pearson set up his own publishing company, which started out by publishing the highly successful Pearson’s Weekly …

By 1900 he had launched the Daily Express and in 1904 he acquired The Standard and The Evening Standard.

Pearson soon put his new wealth towards charitable causes. In 1892 he established the Fresh Air Fund, which provided holidays and outings for hundreds of thousands of disadvantaged children, and in 1908 helped Robert Baden-Powell found the Boy Scout movement.

As seen by Spy for Vanity Fair in 1908 …

He had always had bad eyesight and in 1913 he learned that he would soon be completely blind. He told his wife Ethel ‘I will never be a blind man, I am going to be the blind man’. Pearson sold off his remaining publishing interests and began to work tirelessly for blind people. He worked initially as treasurer for the National Institute for the Blind (now the Royal National Institute of Blind People, or RNIB) and then as secretary for the National Relief Fund upon the outbreak of the First World War. In February 1915 he established a hostel for blinded servicemen called St Dunstan’s, a charity which still operates today as Blind Veterans UK.

Pearson around 1915 …

St Dunstan’s Hostel for Blinded Soldiers and Sailors offered a total programme of care and training. Every man who passed the reading test was given a Braille writing machine and men could choose to learn one of a number of different trades, from poultry farming to typing. There was also a wide range of sporting, social, and musical activities. When a patient left St Dunstan’s he was given a set of tools appropriate to the trade he had learnt, and a home and working premises were found for him. In 1917 an aftercare department was established to provide, when necessary, lifelong support.

In recognition of his services to blind people, Pearson was created a baronet in 1916 and appointed Knight Grand Cross of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire (GBE) in 1917. He died aged just 55 after a freak accident at his Devonshire Street home on 9 December 1921.

I’m still sorting through the other memorial images I took and will write about them at a later date.

On leaving, I had to take a picture of this impressive building across the road from the cemetery entrance …

When I was growing up nearby in the 1960s it was a monumental mason’s premises, their skills obviously being demonstrated on the facade. It is now a rather splendid private residence and Grade II listed.

In other news.

Is this a record size for an avocado stone (pen alongside for scale) …

A mysterious happening. Yesterday afternoon I found a tin of chopped pork outside the entrance to our flats …

But by evening it had disappeared.

Things can get very exciting round here.

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