Friends of Hartwood Paupers Cemetery

So where did we start ... our story so far

The Graveyard Shift.

In 2018, our family decided that we should find our family tree and through hard work, research, help from family and friends we slowly began to know who we were and where we had come from.

This led us to find our great, great uncle Robbie MacDonald who had fought at the Battle of Mametz Wood, Somme France 1916, where unfortunately he would never get to returned home.

 

So, my sister and I decided that we would go to France and find Robbie, which we did in a beautiful, well looked after French graveyard. This got me thinking that if some kind stranger could tend to his grave, then in turn I could tend to the graveyard within the grounds of the old hospital. This was rather poignant and meaningful due to the fact that I work in the mental health 3rd sector where we actively promote removing the stigma around mental health within society.

At this time, little did I know that there was likeminded and good hearted people in the village who also thought the same and together we hatched a plan to begin the reclaiming, restoring but more importantly given those buried their identity back. They had been hidden for far to long but from that day they would no longer to be anonymous or hidden from society.

So we began what seemed like an impossible task at the time, clearing away the years of rubbish, restoring the broken gates, cleaning up the remaining headstones and memorial stone whilst discovering the plaques that identified the resting places of those buried.

Rhona, our resident 'Charlie Dimmock' sowed and germinated wild flowers, nurtured roses bushes back to health and became a master jedi at killing the weeds. Ally was the Queen of the path clearing, Jackie was our powehouse painting and moving slabs, Karen was the negotiator, making sure the bags were removed and pestering the council to keeping their word, Rian and Jamie where the brawn, moving mounds of rubbish and foliage, Adrian was the restorer of the stones, grass cutter and painter, Neil was just a star putting his hand to everything, Cerys was another powerhouse like her mum and I became the resident digger, digging up the plaques. More I think about it I'm glad the police never approached as I don't know how we would have started to explain what we were doing with spades, metal detectors and wheel barrows in a graveyard.

Throughout the summer we planted flowers, bushes of lavender (mental health plant) and roses, discovered many of plaques and slowly began to build a database of the names, where exactly they were buried, the date of their death and basically any information we could find. After months of research and hard work we identified a Polish Princesses, a baby, 6 WW1 personnel, 1 being a woman but more importantly we began restoring the dignity and giving everyone buried within the boundaries of the old wooden fence their identify back.

There are hundreds of sad stories within the database but mainly connected through the stigma surrounding mental health and poverty.

So here we are today, the graveyard has been an escape from COVID 19, a place we have recharged our batteries at times, had a laugh and supported each other. Its now a peaceful place where the birds sing, the bees buzz and the butterflies dance.

Please feel free to join us at anytime. 

Hartwood 

 

Abandoned now and derelict a building once so grand Is testament to all that’s wrong In this, our Christian land

This is Hartwood Sanatorium From another time and place

But what lies below this hallowed ground Is all of ours disgrace

 

Some were ‘private lunatics’ Put here through family shame

But most were ‘pauper lunatics’ And are buried with no name

Homosexuals, epileptics, The disabled lie here too

All outcasts from society Buried deep and out of view

 

Twelve hundred plus lie buried here With some plots being shared

And take with them their cruel lives For no evil here was spared

A few nursing staff are buried here With the damned young single mothers

But in their everlasting peace They are all our sisters, brothers

 

Five soldiers from the Great War, Who were tortured by their past

Join a lady from St Mary’s Corps And are honoured here at last

The atrocities to forgotten souls And the stigma that they bore

Are remembered by this simple plaque And are lost to us no more

 

A royal Polish Princess An heiress without grace

And the baby girl who never danced

Died in this godforsaken place

 

Paul Colvin The Indy Poet.

 

This is a poem composed by our very dear friend Paul Colvin, The Indy Poet

He captures the emotion, the stigma and often the feelings of shame that surround mental health of days gone past.

The Guardians 

 

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