Amen to That

I visited a happy graveyard the other day, and I can't help wondering why there aren't more of them. A churchyard is essentially a repository for bones, as suggested by the Dorset word ‘bwoneyard’. And they are generally on the atmospheric side, despite the efforts of parishioners to maintain them as perfunctory spaces. My old village comes to mind. Located in the quiet East Midlands, the church sat in the middle of things, separating Main Street, the old hall, and rectory from the brook. We all used the churchyard for walking through; the paths led to the shop, sports ground, and pub.

Besides some wonderfully pruned yews, maintained by a parishioner, planting consisted of straight lines of snowdrops and daffodils, and a patch of grass with grape hyacinths under an oak tree. It was all mowed down in late spring. I heard that when the vicar was new and full of ideas, he had suggested that this might be a good place for a meadow. He was roundly opposed. Eventually, a sign went up, declaring that the beauty of the graveyard was not to be compromised by planted flowers or 'unsightly receptacles.' Gravestones became increasingly garish, which was quite fun but it would have been more enjoyable if this communal space didn’t feel as though it was at war with itself.

The church of St Mary’s in Walthamstow Village, by contrast, sits peaceably among two sets of almshouses, one Tudor and one Georgian, the latter built specifically for 'the use of six decayed tradesmen's widows', forever endowed by Mrs Mary Squires, a widow herself. A path for pedestrians runs between railed enclosures of long grass, with old tombs and gravestones adding height and structure. A sign requests that only recyclable materials are used, but that is no surprise to visitors to a church that is open to all (with a café that serves food through an open window), and has a garden to get excited about.

Strong green shapes contrast with the unadorned, stuccoed planes of the church. Giant viper's bugloss (Echium pininana) range around the back door with the tall and wide silhouettes of cardoons further along. Purple globes of Echinops and metallic Eryngium seem to be here mainly for attracting bees, triggering fear and fascination among the shrieking children who run through. It's the kind of thrill that people get from a horror movie; like so many kids, they fear getting stung, but they are interested enough to stay.

Some of the graves are more obviously cared for than others, yet there is a harmony in the planting, with mown paths along alleys of graves. Flowers are generally perennials; they work in grassland or when draped around stone, but less favoured relics, such as the occasional spotted laurel, look fine too – a reminder of the layers of time that graveyards represent. It’s clear that the Parish of St Mary’s has a long history of progressive ideas; one 19th-century vicar, William Wilson, built the first Church of England infant school on his own land here, and his modus operandi was 'instruction by amusement'. But I wanted to know more about how this joyous and lively boneyard came into being, so I contacted its gardener, Tim Hewitt.

He told me that he had been a member of the congregation at St Mary's when, about 10 years ago, the vicar persuaded him to help ‘beat back’ overgrown weeds and do some mowing. He wasn’t a gardener but agreed, without much enthusiasm, to donate a couple of hours of his time each week. ‘I saw a patch of quite common blue geraniums in one area which had been planted, and it made me think “It could be nice to have something else with that,”’ says Tim. 'And that was how it started. I divided some plants, sowed others from seed, and made the South Bed (shown above) out of any bits and pieces I had around. And I found that quite satisfying, and very soon I was hooked.’

The churchyard is quite rambling and covers four acres. Two and a half hours a week from one person was not enough. ‘I came up with the Burials in Bloom scheme,' continues Tim. 'It was a very simple idea whereby residents could adopt a neglected grave and use it as their own garden. A few keen gardeners locally started doing just that, in their own way and in their own style, which attracted more. It’s become very successful, with 50-plus graves that are tended as people like, in a kind of allotment style, and that happens whenever they want for as long as they want, or not very often at all.

‘In 2022, I was given 21 hours a week, which allowed me to do a lot more. My job became much more about organising volunteers and engaging with community groups. Since then, we’ve been able to plant more areas, maintaining them to a higher standard in places. We have a small budget for plants, but generally, we beg, steal, borrow or propagate our own. However,’ he concludes, ‘the primary focus is always on wildlife and wildlife gardening. That’s something that I value highly.’

And this is the point. Churchyards, as well as gardens, have so much going for them in supporting and boosting biodiversity within a town, city, or rural parish. They generally have mature trees; they could always do with new ones. It’s the same with shrubs and ground cover; churchyard classics such as yew, holly, and ivy provide shelter and food for non-humans; yew and holly look brilliant in a grassy setting, whether pruned or unpruned.

Other notable graveyard gardens in London run by nature-focused gardeners and volunteers are Tower Hamlets Cemetery Park and Eden Nature Garden at St Paul's in Clapham. The main gardener of the latter is Benny Hawksbee, whose Instagram account is an education in identifying indigenous solitary bees among other insects, as his name might suggest. Britain in Bloom, run by the RHS, is a competition. Burials in Bloom, on the other hand – maybe you would consider starting a local chapter?