St Mary’s Willesden:
last remains of a famous
medieval village

St Mary’s church and graveyard are the last remnants of an old village, which name derives from the Anglo-Saxon Willesdune, meaning ‘spring at the foot of a hill’. And it wasn’t just any spring! Legendary caused by Virgin Mary to flow, it was thought to cure blindness and other eye disorders. Believe it or not, but with a gratitude shrine housing ‘Our Lady of Willesden’ statue right next to it, that tiny church on the edge of a marshland was a hotspot for pilgrims since the Middle Ages!

At the turn of the 16th century, it was visited even by Queen Elizabeth of York and Thomas More who, apparently, prayed here only two weeks before getting arrested! One of the local historians, though, claims that the whole story was made up in the Victorian era, there’s nothing special about the shrine, and nobody historically significant has ever been here… Ouch! Still, it’s a fact, that More’s daughters, Elizabeth and Cecily, got married in 1525 in an oratory at Willesden, probably attached to St Mary’s church or one of the local houses back then!

Anyway, thanks to King Henry VIII, the sacred statue was destroyed in a large bonfire at Chelsea in 1538, so nobody knows how it looked like. After the event, the holy well was also abandoned and slowly forgotten. Rediscovered in 1998, it was topped with a pump and for a while everyone could get water from the ancient spring. Not anymore though – I couldn’t even find it. The replaced Madonna statue is visited by many pilgrimages throughout the year. It’s hard to imagine, but a whopping 60,000 believers came to St. Mary’s Willesden in 1954, when it was made the centre of Westminster’s celebrations for the Marian Year!

St Mary’s graveyard became full in 1868 and was extended up North, to the railway tracks. When local public cemetery opened in 1891, it was named Willesden New Cemetery to distinguish it from St Mary’s Willesden, which then became Willesden Old Cemetery.

Even though the burial ground has been in use since Middle Ages, all the gravestones left are from the 19th century. You can find some elaborate designs in a variety of styles – nothing too impressive, though. I guess all the wealthy locals opted for nearby Kensal Green, London’s first private garden cemetery, opened in 1833. Still, there are some beautiful details hidden around here!

The graveyard is walled with grand chestnuts and limes, with plenty of trees and shrubs scattered around, especially near the church and one corner of the extension. Its greenery levels are very inconsistent, though! Sometimes it’s like a jungle, with shrubs, grass and weeds taking over. Other times they won’t let anything grow more than an inch above the ground. Or it’s a mix – like romantic ivy climbing the monuments gets cleared away, but nearby angel statue is literally swallowed by bushes so thick you can’t even tell it’s there.

There’s a surprising amount of wildlife here, considering it’s not too overgrown and closely surrounded by busy roads! I’ve already mentioned the adorable grey squirrels, but there are also foxes hiding in nooks under the monuments and wondering between graves in the evenings.

Once-popular, but now pretty forgotten, Kingston wrote over 130 adventure stories for boys, like Peter the Whaler and The Three Lieutenants, but also dabbled in biographies, travel books, and even translating works by authors like Jules Verne. On top of that, he ran several papers, was into volunteering and philanthropy, plus he scored a Portuguese knighthood for helping with a trade deal. Not too shabby, eh?

Charles, a writer known mostly for The Cloister and the Hearth, met Laura, who was already married, when looking for an actress for one of his plays. After a while he moved into her parents’ house, where she lived as well, along with several other people. A classic London house-sharing situation – but over the years, all the other residents died or moved somewhere else, until only Charles and Laura were left. In 1868, they officially moved together to another house near Hyde Park, giving the Victorian prudes lots of juicy reasons to gossip!

Sadly, ten years into their wonderfully eccentric life together, Laura got sick. One of her last wishes was to be buried in a countryside churchyard… Only thanks to her suggestion, Charles swapped playwriting for novels, which was a game-changer for his career. After her death, he wrote nothing more – except for the epitaph on her tomb. Totally depressed, he died five years later, joining Laura in the grave. Her husband, who died soon after she met Charles, is buried somewhere else.

Here lies the great heart of Laura Seymour. A brilliant artist, a humble Christian, a charitable woman, a loving daughter, sister and friend, who lived for others from her childhood. Tenderly pitiful to all God’s creatures, even to some that are frequently destroyed or neglected, she wiped away the tears from many faces, helping the poor with her savings and soothing the sorrowful with her earnest pity. When the eye saw her it blessed her, for her face was sunshine, her voice was melody, and her heart was sympathy. Truth could say more and sorrow pines to enlarge upon her virtues, but this would ill-accord with her humility, who justly disclaimed them all and relied only on the merit of her redeemer. After months of acute suffering borne with gentle resignation, and with sorrow for those who were to lose her, not for herself, she was released from her burden and fell asleep in Jesus, September 27th. 1879, aged 59 years.

This grave was made for her by Charles Reade, whose wise counsellor, loyal ally, and bosom friend she was for twenty-four years, and who mourns her all his days.

GEORGE FURNESS (d. 1900)

A true star of the churchyard, George was a construction engineer who worked all around the world on railways, drainage and brickwork. He played a key role in building London’s first sewage system and later founded the Willesden Brick and Tile Company on Chambers Lane, fuelling the area’s rapid expansion in the 1870s. His bricks shaped St Andrew’s Church, local schools and countless homes – many of which still stand today.

As a driving force behind Willesden’s growth, George was also deeply involved in the community – serving as Willesden’s first Local Board chairman, a churchwarden here at St Mary’s, and a governor at St Mary’s Hospital. In 1892, he sold 26 acres of land to create Roundwood Park, securing green space for future generations. His legacy lives on in Furness Road and Furness Primary School.

Interesting residents 5/5

Renting a flat in a Victorian building nearby, I just can’t stop thinking, that someone from St Mary’s residents might’ve lived here at some point – but who??? There are so many individuals absorbed by this soil, whose unique stories are now forgotten! Yes… I may have checked all 1650 names listed on findagrave.com… Anyway, here are few names worth remembering:

DR WILLIAM ROBERT WOODMAN (died 1891)

Freemason and occultist, highly ranked in many secret esoteric orders. He was a Supreme Magus of the Rosicrucian Society of England, a Grand Sword Bearer of the United Grand Lodge of England and a co-founder of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn. He was also a medical doctor, as well as a prominent horticulturalist and flower exhibitor – so admired in that field, that his (surprisingly plain!) memorial was erected by the Royal Horticultural Society!

SIR HENRY HOLLAND (died 1873)

Baronet, buried in a family vault under the church building, was a travel writer and physician, who made an early contribution to the germ theory of disease in his essay from 1839. He was physician to Queen Victoria, William IV and Caroline, Princess of Wales. The famous novelist and biographer, Elizabeth Gaskell, was his father’s niece. His mother, on the other hand, was a niece of Josiah Wedgwood – a talented potter, slavery abolitionist and one of the wealthiest entrepreneurs of the 18th century.

CAPTAIN ARTHUR THOMAS BROOKE (died in 1893)

The unusual memorial with a broken mast and anchor on a coil of rope, honours his adventurous life at sea. This guy did it all – fought in wars, led expeditions, and rescued crews from wrecked ships near Gibraltar, snagging a shiny gold medal from the Shipwrecked Mariners’ Society. And if that wasn’t enough, he was a total badass when it came to fighting the slave trade – capturing and sinking slaver ships off the African coast! A true legend, he passed away while in charge of the Royal Naval Barracks in Davenport.

LENA GILBERT FORD (died 1918)

American poet, lyricist, journalist… and the first USA citizen killed in a German air ride ever! Yup. Some sources claim she’s buried at Paddington Cemetery, others – that the body was returned to USA. According to Findagrave.com – she’s here. I guess we’ll never know, but who doesn’t like a good mystery?

JOHN BEER (died 1885)

The First Station Master at Willesden Junction when it opened in 1866.

KATHERINE ‘KATIE’ COCKSHUT (died 1904)

Beloved wife of Harry, sleeps under my favourite angel statue. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find any more information about her. Recently, some idiot scratched off her name from the monument – well, I hope you already gave him reasons to believe in ghosts, Katie…

Presence in art and media 5/5

‘JACK SHEPPARD’ by William Harrison Ainsworth (1840)

Willesden and its church became the backdrop for a historical romance novel inspired by a famous 18th-century thief, highwayman and escapologist, making some people believe that he was buried here. The amazing illustrations by George Cruikshank, who actually did some sketching on site, only fueled the rumour! Willesden became famous again, attracting thousands of Sheppard’s fans. Cheeky old sexton would even point to ‘his grave’ – and sell ‘little pieces of his graveboards’ as mementos!

In case you haven’t heard about him, Jack Sheppard, born into a poor family in London’s Spitalfields, was showing a great promise as a carpenter, but at the age of 20 he decided to become a criminal instead. He was arrested and imprisoned five times in 1724 – four of which he managed to escape. His last escape was truly epic: he broke free from his chains, then climbed a chimney, picked the locks of several bolted doors and used a blanket as a makeshift rope to descend several storeys of the jail to his freedom! Ultimately, he was convicted and hanged, ending his brief criminal career after less than two years. Sheppard’s execution spot at the Tyeburn tree is now Speaker’s Corner at Marble Arch. His body was buried in the churchyard of St Martin-in-the-Fields (Westminster).

‘IN WILLESDEN CHURCHYARD’ by Sir John Betjeman (1966)

Come walk with me, my love, to Neasden Lane.
The chemicals from various factories
Have bitten deep into the Portland stone
And streaked the white Carrara of the graves
Of many a Pooter and his Caroline,
Long laid to rest among these dripping trees;
And that small heap of fast-decaying flowers
Marks Lupin Potter lately gathered in;
And this, my love, is Laura Seymour’s grave –
‘So long the loyal counsellor and friend’
Of that Charles Reade whose coffin lies with hers.
Was she his mistress? Did he visit her
When coming down from Oxford by the coach?
Alighting at the turnpike, did he walk
These elmy lanes of Middlesex and climb
A stile or two across the dairy farms
Over to Harlesden at the wicket gate?
Then the soft rigours of his Fellowship
Were tenderly relaxed. The sun would send
Last golden streaks of mild October light
On tarred and weather-boarded barn and shed.
Blue bonfire smoke would hang among the trees;
And in the little stucco hermitage
Did Laura gently stroke her lover’s head?
And did her Charles look up into her eyes
For loyal counsel there? I do not know.
Doubtless some pedant for his Ph.D.
Has ascertained the facts, or I myself
Might find them in the public libraries.
I only know that as we see her grave
My flesh, to dissolution nearer now
Than yours, which is so milky white and soft,
Frightens me, thought the Blessed Sacrament
Not ten yards off in Willesden parish church
Glows with the present immanence of God.

‘NW’ by zadie smith (2012)

A little country church, a medieval country church, stranded on this half-acre, in the middle of a roundabout. Out of time, out of place. A force field of serenity surrounds it. A cherry tree at the east window. A low encircling brick wall marks the ancient boundary, no more a defence than a ring of daisies. The family vaults have their doors kicked in. Many brightly tagged gravestones. (…) Blue clockface brilliant in the sun. It is eleven thirty in the morning, in another century, another England. (…) A path threads through the shady graveyard, the Victorian stones marking only the most recent layer of the dead. (2012, p. 60)