Rather gloomy

Sunday, January 22nd., Cadogan Square, London.

I read more of "Faust" and spent a lot of time in loose reflection - vaguely on a new play and on my next Evening Standard article.  I went for a walk right down over Chelsea Bridge and along Battersea Park Road, and home by Albert Bridge Road and King's Road. Then I filled up the time in writing to Phillpotts about Hardy's funeral. The more I think of it the more wrong it seems to me that Hardy's wish to be buried in his native Dorset was peremptorily set aside. Surely the disposal of our bodies after death is a matter where our wishes should be respected? I certainly hope mine will be. I want to go into Burslem Cemetery and will make my wish well known before I go! I don't think Hardy even believed in God, though he wouldn't say so directly. I wish now I had asked him when we met. This business of grand funerals is all about the established church attempting to demonstrate that it still has a valuable role to play. I give it another 50 years and it will have withered away.

Battersea Park Road

Battersea is a different world. I saw on a Sunday Express poster: "Hardy's last novel, by Sir Edmund Gosse". It seemed terribly absurd there. How many people in Battersea Bridge had heard of Hardy, or of Gosse, or could get up any interest whatever in a last novel though it were written by God himself? It is a gloomy, drab area with most repulsive tenements, a big technical institiute, an open gramophone shop (with a machine grinding out a tune and a song) and an open 'Fun Fair' sort of place (a shop with the front taken out) and a few small boys therein amusing themselves with penny-in-the-slot machines. One wonders whether gambling habits acquired at an early age become serious addictions later in life? I'm not going to say that gambling is a sin; I've done a bit myself from time to time. But it certainly blights the life of many in the working classes from what I read and see around me.

We dined this evening at Mrs. Patrick Campbell's across the Square.

A Funeral in Burslem

Friday, November 27th., Thorpe-le-Soken.

Marguerite and I went down to Burslem for the mater's funeral on Tuesday afternoon.
The mater died about 1 p.m. on Monday.
I learnt from Jennings that the 'last journey' had to be 'the longest', i.e. corpse must always go longest way to cemetery. I asked why. He sniggered: "So as to prolong the agony, I suppose." Real reason nowadays and for long past must be ostentation. We naturally altered this.

Walk down town. Some bricks dry before others. Prominent yellow painted stone-facings of Macintyres. Abolition of most crossings in Waterloo Road, to disgust of residents. I saw new Coliseum Theatre. New window in Mr. Povey's side-room at top of Church St. Church St. was cleaner and better kept.


Funeral. Too soon. Orange light through blinds in front of room. Coffin in centre on two chairs. Covered with flowers. Bad reading, and stumbling of parson. Cliches and halting prayer. Small thin book out of which parson read. In dim light, cheap new carving on oak of coffin seemed like fine oak carving. Sham brass handles on coffin. Horrible lettering. Had to wait after service for hearse to arrive. Men hung their hats on spikes of hearse before coming in. No trouble in carrying coffin. I kept Uncle J.L.'s arm most of the time as he is nearly blind. He told me he still managed 700 accounts. Long walk from cemetery gates to region of chapel.

Burslem Cemetery Chapel

Burslem Cemetery opened in 1879 and covers approximately 11.4 hectares (about 28 acres). When it was opened it was intended to be a "a recreation park, to be used for walking, riding and driving" as well as a cemetery and at least a third of the land was taken up with the lodges, chapel, walks & drives. Only about five and a half acres was laid out for burials.

By the way, the lodge at gates is rented as an ordinary house to a schoolmaster. John Ford's vault next to Longson, with records of his young wives ("the flower fadeth" etc.) This could be exaggerated into a fine story. No sign of any other coffins of course in Longson vault.
Curious jacket and apron of first grave-digger. Second stood apart. Both with hats off. Parson put on a skull-cap.

On return, carriages trotted down slope from cemetery, but walked as we got to houses near Cobridge station. 'Nest Egg Factory' en route. 2 cottages turned into works.

War. Extract from notice signed G.R. and issued from War Office: "Complete second half million and ensure success at home and abroad." And yet a second million is asked for. I ascertained totals of regular recruits up to November 25th. 12,800 applied, and 9,600 were accepted, in Potteries and N'castle.