In the east end of Glasgow, serenely resting in between the Tennent’s brewery and the M8 motorway, is the Necropolis.
Dating from the 1800s, it’s effectively a posh man’s graveyard, full of extravagant, bombastic and beautiful memorials of those members of Victorian Glasgow society who could afford them.
I’ve been meaning to take a wander around it for ages, and finally did so today (Saturday). It’s a thoroughly impressive place, in so many ways.
It is a demonstration of the wealth which (some) Glaswegians boasted, and the vanity in which they used it to commemorate themselves. There is even a memorial to John Knox, one of the leaders of the Reformation in Scotland.
The Necropolis also has impressive views of the city, and is an ornate, atmospheric and almost surreal oasis of calm in an otherwise hectic city.
One of my favourite memorials, however, is to a 19th century actor called John Henry Alexander. The memorial is clearly created with affection, containing a poem, a stage, and carvings representing tragedy and comedy.