Richard Burton's tomb

As a Calvinist, somewhat lapsed admittedly, I have never been keen on ostentatious memorials to the departed. When I'm gone a quiet cremation will do fine.
But I confess I also find grand tombstones eerily fascinating. Death is still the unspoken of certainty in life which makes us all equal in the end. Even the grandest of mausoleums on the scale of the Pharaohs cannot eradicate the fact that the body inside is every bit as dead as the one in a pauper's grave.
In my earlier life as a detective I often had to visit the mortuary in Lewes Road, Brighton for some rather grim post mortums. Feeling queasy and in a typically male fashion not wanting to show it, I would often wander round the grounds of the adjacent Extra-Mural cemetery and be amazed at some of the stonemasonry on display.
It was this somewhat morbid interest that found me this week walking through the West London suburbs of Putney and Mortlake, places more associated with the boat race than matters of life and death, searching for the grave of Sir Richard Burton.
My curiosity had been sparked by the Matthew's Parris Radio 4 Programme Great Lives, where Monica Ali had talked about the Victorian explorer's amazing exploits. Until then, like many people I suspect, I had merely associated the name Richard Burton with the thirsty Welsh actor who married Elizabeth Taylor twice.
The Victorian Richard Burton spoke 29 different languages, journeyed clandestinely to Mecca (he would have been killed if discovered to be European), wrote books on subjects ranging from falconry, human psychology and fencing to sexual relations, fought in India and the Crimean War, and explored large parts of Africa, Asia and South America. To some Burton was a Victorian pornographer, obsessed with sex and famous for translating the Kama Sutra. Rumours as to his sexuality were circulating in 'polite' circles in a day when it was not 'polite' to talk of such matters. Certainly Burton seems to have taken a great interest in the sexual habits of those he met on his travels, in a way which on reflection seems to have in certain cases been, shall we say, 'above and beyond the call of duty.'
I learnt from the radio programme that aged 40 Burton had married Isabel Arundell, a devout Catholic. There is a dispute when, or if, Burton ever adopted the faith, and this is where his tomb comes into the story and my curiosity was really triggered.
Sir Richard died of a heart attack aged 69 (I know, I know) in 1890, and Lady Isabel claimed he converted to Catholicism before the last rites were administered by a willing priest. Burton's friends suggested he remained an atheist until the end, and the last rites were only administered after he had died.
I am no expert obviously but I rather suspect the friends were correct. However what is not in doubt is that Isobel had lost the love of her life, and that having been devoted to Richard the whole of her adult life, she was devastated by his death.
Her last act of love for him was to commission an incredible above ground tomb in which his body (in a coffin thankfully) would be interred. Burton's family - his niece in particular - were opposed to this but ultimately comforted themselves because this apparently grand last resting place was in 'a shabby sectarian cemetery' which 'within 50 years will have been swept away by London's ever advancing tide.'

So that's why I found myself in Mortlake, on a wet November morning (ok I admit on the way to Kempton races as it happens) searching for the cemetery containing Sir Richard Burton's last resting place. It was not easy to find. The graveyard surrounds St Mary Magdalen's Church. I had the postcode - SW14 8PR - which enabled google maps to take me to the general area. I could just about make out (by jumping up and down) what seemed a rather grand monument behind the high walls of the churchyard. The nearby door in the wall was firmly locked and did not appear to have been opened for years. I contemplated climbing over, but a combination of age and fear of getting mistaken for a burglar put me off.
I was about to to give up when on my third circuit of the walls I noticed a gap down the side of the church, behind the Montessouri school. I walked along it cautiously, thankfully no one stopped me, and I found myself behind the church and facing what was obviously the Burton tomb.
It is made of stone but resembles a Bedouin tent. There are inscriptions on the front, including a rather good poem. Most curiously at the rear there is a cast iron ladder. Climbing this allows you to access a roof window. Daringly (for me anyway) I scaled it to see that inside there are paintings, vases and the coffins (with presumably their remains inside) of Sir Richard and Lady Burton.

This intriguing curiosity has now been there in an anonymous suburban cemetery for over 120 years. Planes coming into land at Heathrow fly directly over every two minutes but it seems to have survived intact. Part of me still does not really approve of such a monument but on reflection hats off to Lady Isobel. She got her way and if you are ever in Mortlake with nothing to do it's worth a visit.
And thank you to Monica Ali for sparking my interest.