No chance of £30 for grave watch stint

Former Evening Press columnist Peter Mullen has settled in his new parish in London so he thought he would write home..

HERE I am then, living in the historic Watch House in the City of London near St Bartholomew's hospital and right opposite the Old Bailey. The Watch House is so named because my predecessors, 19th century vicars of this parish, were paid an extra £30 on the stipend to keep watch over the graveyard and report any St Bart's medical students for stealing bodies from the graves. The graveyard has gone now and with it, I'm sorry to say, the thirty quid.

If I thought I was going to be homesick, I need not have worried for there are reminders of Yorkshire all over the place. Perhaps the most striking connection is that of Robert Holgate (1481-1555) who is buried in our church which is named St Sepulchre after the holy sepulchre in Jerusalem. Holgate is known to us of course as the sometime Archbishop of York with whom the famous city school is associated. Before he became Archbishop, he was Master of the Order for St Sempringham and he lived in the master's house near St Sepulchre's in Cow Lane. I was interested to discover that Holgate was deprived of his ecclesiastical office for being married.

Another of my predecessors, John Rogers, was burnt at the stake here for heresy during the reign of Queen Mary.

St Sepulchre's is known as the musicians' church, and with good reason. Sir Henry Wood, founder of the promenade concerts, learned the organ here as a boy of 12. There is a nice story of how his tutor used to set him to practice and then disappear into The Viaduct pub across the road from where young Henry had to go and retrieve him. I have got into the habit of disappearing into The Viaduct quite a bit myself. On the north side of the church there is the memorial window to Wood and the promenaders come and lay a wreath each year.

Walk across the spacious nave and you come upon a reminder of a Walt Disney film. Here is a stained glass window depicting Captain John Smith (1580-1631) who set off from his house in this parish with 105 emigrants in three 'little ships' in 1606 and sailed to America. There he was captured by Indians and rescued by Pocahontas. Smith returned to London where he died and was buried under the south aisle of St Sepulchre's.

A more macabre relic stands in a glass case in the nave. This is the execution bell. What is now the Old Bailey used to be Newgate Prison and at midnight on the eve of executions the priest of this parish would walk across to the condemned cell and ring the bell to call the man about to be hanged to repent his sins.

Strolling around here is like walking through a history book - but living history because the buildings in our parish still house working institutions. I am parish priest of two churches: St Sepulchre and St Michael, Cornhill. As I walk between them I pass the Bank of England, the Royal Exchange and the Stock

Exchange, St Paul's Cathedral and the famous church of St Mary-le-Bow, to be born in earshot of whose bells is the definition of a true Cockney. Round the corner is Smithfield Market, a magnificent structure in wrought iron and coloured glass - more like a palace from the Italian Renaissance than a meat market.

St Sepulchre's tower houses the bells of Old Bailey mentioned in the nursery rhyme and I was delighted when the ringers sounded a full peal after my installation and then presented me with a framed scroll to record the event.

When I used to travel from York to London to see publishers and editors, I hated the place. It seemed to be all rush, noise and dirt. Perhaps some parts of it still are, but the Square Mile is just like a village. Awesome yet homely.

20/11/98

Converted for the new archive on 30 June 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.