Gosh, Orwell could be a miserable git, couldn't he?
“Perhaps the most horrible spectacle in Britain”.
No, my dearios, this time it was not portly middle-aged to elderly men enjoying healthful outdoor exercise while wearing suitable garb for the endeavour, i.e. shorts and open-necked shirts (the horror! the unbearable horror! - I refer readers to the passage The Road to Wigan Pier in which two harmless hikers get on a bus and produce a vitriolic outpouring).
No, Mr Orwell cannot stand the sight of the Hyde Park Pet Cemetery, last resting-place of the beloved companion animals of (mostly) the elite of London, 1881-1903: First came Cherry, a Maltese terrier, who succumbed to the infirmities of old age. Cherry belonged to the children of Mr and Mrs J. Lewis Barned who would visit Hyde Park regularly, befriending gatekeeper Mr Winbridge, who sold them ginger beer and lollypops. When Cherry died, they approached Mr Winbridge to ask if they can lay Cherry to rest in Victoria Lodge’s back garden - a spot he loved. Permission was granted and today a tiny tombstone still stands bearing the inscription, ‘Poor Cherry. Died April 28. 1881’.
The idea soon caught on and when Prince, a Yorkshire terrier owned by the Duke of Cambridge was next to be interred (after meeting his untimely end under the wheel of a carriage), Hyde Park became the place for wealthy Londoners to bury their beloved companions.
It is not generally open to the public, though small group tours can be booked at considerable cost, but there is a virtual online tour forthcoming next week.
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