London Part 3: I'm Done This Time, I Promise

The West Wing of the Highgate Cemetery was bizarrely compelling and fascinating. This had to do in no small part with our tour guide, an enthusiastic retiree. This was only his twelfth tour, but he peppered our walk with the kind of stories and historical anecdotes that I always want to know when wandering alone between tombstones: that this one was the very first grave in the cemetery, that this one is one of the few stones that describes cause of death (fire; a 19 year old woman); that this one has a statue of a lion because the man was London's first entrepreneurial zookeeper. He wore a "Free Tibet" shirt under his windbreaker. Here is is, the lovely man:

This is the Egyptian mausoleum, built by Egypt-mad Victorians. It turned out, surprisingly, to be quite unpopular, or at least quite difficult to fill with bodies; apparently the love of the exotic did not extend to the afterlife, which should be highly Christian and respectable. 

Proper Christian burial grounds. Each door is a family plot; like a friendly, suburban neighborhood of dead people. 

Our guide left us with a delightful story about his enormous mausoleum, resting place of a wealthy merchant and his daughter, who died very young. (That part isn't relevant to this tale, but I found it perversely fascinating how few people lived to grow out of the childrens' sizes. Or, if they managed that, how few lived to retirement age. Strange how we don't see what luck we have to be alive.) 

This man was a merchant, and a wealthy and successful one, but for all that he was never truly accepted in the upper social circles. There were a few strikes against him: he was a German emigré, he was a merchant (so he was not born into his wealth and was therefore inferior) and, last of all, he was Jewish.  So when he began building his family mausoleum, he had resentment to spare. He selected a spot near the top of the hill, and made the building about 25 feet tall. The spot he chose was right in front of the very popular promenades well-frequented by the well-to-do, who would take strolls there to have fresh air and views over the entire city. Well, up to the point when a towering mausoleum was erected directly in the way. The cross on top was also a nice touch-he converted in the later years of his life in order to be allowed into the cemetery at all; it is highly doubtful that it was a sudden belief in our saviour Jesus Christ that spurred this. 

At this point, the intimidating and domineering grande dame in charge of the High Gate tours radioed our guide to inform him that our tour was running late. He took us the long way back, stopping to talk about a few more of his favorite headstones, while confessing that he was somewhat frightened of the mistress of High Gate. He also made faces while he was talking to her on the walkie. Did I mention we all loved him?