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The only grave is Essex: how the county became London's dumping ground The only grave is Essex: how the county became London's dumping ground
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When undertaker John Harris was tasked with the reburial of the 3,300 skeletons that were discovered in 2015 by the Crossrail tunnellers under the site of the infamous Bedlam hospital at Liverpool Street station, he found there was no room left in London’s cemeteries. So, he did what any self-respecting East Ender does when they feel the capital has deserted them – he found a nice spot in Essex to rest his bones.When undertaker John Harris was tasked with the reburial of the 3,300 skeletons that were discovered in 2015 by the Crossrail tunnellers under the site of the infamous Bedlam hospital at Liverpool Street station, he found there was no room left in London’s cemeteries. So, he did what any self-respecting East Ender does when they feel the capital has deserted them – he found a nice spot in Essex to rest his bones.
“There isn’t the burial space in London, just like there isn’t the housing,” says Harris, the director of T Cribb and Sons, one of the oldest family-run funeral directors in east London. The plot he found for the Bedlam skeletons was in Willow cemetery on Canvey Island, reclaimed land in the Thames estuary. “In Essex, it gets cheaper to bury people, the same way it gets cheaper to buy a house.”“There isn’t the burial space in London, just like there isn’t the housing,” says Harris, the director of T Cribb and Sons, one of the oldest family-run funeral directors in east London. The plot he found for the Bedlam skeletons was in Willow cemetery on Canvey Island, reclaimed land in the Thames estuary. “In Essex, it gets cheaper to bury people, the same way it gets cheaper to buy a house.”
When Crossrail opens it will further solidify Essex’s role as a commuter haven for London – the Oyster card’s zone of use has moved further east, now stretching to the hubs of Shenfield and Brentwood. But just as London’s reach has spread east, so too has the passage of London’s dead into Essex been a tradition since the dawn of the steam engine. “Since the very first railway lines were built in London, pretty much all of them have required various cemeteries to be removed,” says Crossrail’s chief archaeologist, Jay Carver. “Crossrail is following that tradition: where graveyards need to be cleared, they’re reburied, generally on the outskirts of London.”When Crossrail opens it will further solidify Essex’s role as a commuter haven for London – the Oyster card’s zone of use has moved further east, now stretching to the hubs of Shenfield and Brentwood. But just as London’s reach has spread east, so too has the passage of London’s dead into Essex been a tradition since the dawn of the steam engine. “Since the very first railway lines were built in London, pretty much all of them have required various cemeteries to be removed,” says Crossrail’s chief archaeologist, Jay Carver. “Crossrail is following that tradition: where graveyards need to be cleared, they’re reburied, generally on the outskirts of London.”
Indeed, for centuries, Essex has been London’s dumping ground – and not just for bones. The fate of the Bedlam skeletons is just the most recent in a wider tale of the effect of London’s relentless growth on its long-suffering neighbour. From gargantuan landfills to oil refineries, it sometimes seems as though the entire county of Essex has acted as a receptacle for what is deemed too dirty for the city itself.Indeed, for centuries, Essex has been London’s dumping ground – and not just for bones. The fate of the Bedlam skeletons is just the most recent in a wider tale of the effect of London’s relentless growth on its long-suffering neighbour. From gargantuan landfills to oil refineries, it sometimes seems as though the entire county of Essex has acted as a receptacle for what is deemed too dirty for the city itself.
When, in 1979, conservative England’s reactionary nimby-in-chief James Wentworth Day wrote in The Book of Essex that “Essex is becoming the dustbin of London”, he was referring to housing. “Endless acres of featureless bungalows, jerry-built houses,” is how he described the homes built to accommodate the spread of Londoners into the county. Much of what we now think of as Essex derives from this flow, from the ever-growing city into its neighbouring county: the new towns and commuter developments into which London has “decanted” its excess people.When, in 1979, conservative England’s reactionary nimby-in-chief James Wentworth Day wrote in The Book of Essex that “Essex is becoming the dustbin of London”, he was referring to housing. “Endless acres of featureless bungalows, jerry-built houses,” is how he described the homes built to accommodate the spread of Londoners into the county. Much of what we now think of as Essex derives from this flow, from the ever-growing city into its neighbouring county: the new towns and commuter developments into which London has “decanted” its excess people.
In Essex, it gets cheaper to bury people, the same way it gets cheaper to buy a houseIn Essex, it gets cheaper to bury people, the same way it gets cheaper to buy a house
But before wholesale migration to new estates in Dagenham, Basildon or further afield, London’s East Enders used Essex as way to find temporary solace from the slum-filled city. In the 19th century, there were anarchic “land colonies”, which brought destitute east Londoners work in rural outposts, in a supposed bid to strengthen the poor’s moral fibre. Then, in the 20th century, there were the plotland developments.But before wholesale migration to new estates in Dagenham, Basildon or further afield, London’s East Enders used Essex as way to find temporary solace from the slum-filled city. In the 19th century, there were anarchic “land colonies”, which brought destitute east Londoners work in rural outposts, in a supposed bid to strengthen the poor’s moral fibre. Then, in the 20th century, there were the plotland developments.
Plotland premises were holiday homes, with a unique twist: they were often built of London’s detritus. From train carriages to old doors and sheds, East Enders used bits of London to build homes from Canvey Island to Clacton – a tangible representation of the leakage of the overpopulated city into the vacant countryside. Sometimes the dismantling of the establishment was literal. One Canvey development was built from the remnants of a Georgian home in Battersea that had been used by William Wilberforce and his fellow slave-trade abolitionists. The new Essex emigre was akin to a Borrower or a Womble: what London no longer needed, they eagerly pounced upon.Plotland premises were holiday homes, with a unique twist: they were often built of London’s detritus. From train carriages to old doors and sheds, East Enders used bits of London to build homes from Canvey Island to Clacton – a tangible representation of the leakage of the overpopulated city into the vacant countryside. Sometimes the dismantling of the establishment was literal. One Canvey development was built from the remnants of a Georgian home in Battersea that had been used by William Wilberforce and his fellow slave-trade abolitionists. The new Essex emigre was akin to a Borrower or a Womble: what London no longer needed, they eagerly pounced upon.
A dream destination for cramped cockneys, Essex was nevertheless perceived as downmarket by the middle classes – a place that was physically and metaphorically downwind of the acrid factory air. As in many other cities in industrial-age Europe, the prevailing westerly wind dictated that only the less solvent pitched up in the east of the city. Essex’s undesirable combination of industrial wasteland and weekend getaway for London’s underclass disturbed genteel onlookers. In a book on the home counties, published in tandem with the 1951 Festival of Britain, writer RSR Fitter lambasted the “industrial development along the Thames estuary, the many holiday towns, and such unplanned calamities as Canvey Island”.A dream destination for cramped cockneys, Essex was nevertheless perceived as downmarket by the middle classes – a place that was physically and metaphorically downwind of the acrid factory air. As in many other cities in industrial-age Europe, the prevailing westerly wind dictated that only the less solvent pitched up in the east of the city. Essex’s undesirable combination of industrial wasteland and weekend getaway for London’s underclass disturbed genteel onlookers. In a book on the home counties, published in tandem with the 1951 Festival of Britain, writer RSR Fitter lambasted the “industrial development along the Thames estuary, the many holiday towns, and such unplanned calamities as Canvey Island”.
The practice of using the land east of Tower Bridge to dump noxious industry and waste management is a long one. “Bovril” boats – so-called due to the rich, brown hue of their pungent cargo brought from the sewerage works of east London and dumped at the mouth of the Thames – were an Estuary tradition for more than 110 years, until the practice of sloshing the capital’s excrement into the brine was phased out in 1998.The practice of using the land east of Tower Bridge to dump noxious industry and waste management is a long one. “Bovril” boats – so-called due to the rich, brown hue of their pungent cargo brought from the sewerage works of east London and dumped at the mouth of the Thames – were an Estuary tradition for more than 110 years, until the practice of sloshing the capital’s excrement into the brine was phased out in 1998.
At around the same time as the Bovril boats first started their trade, east London vestries such as Mile End bought up land in Essex with the intention of using barges and steam tugs to shift the rubbish they didn’t have space for. In 1889, Kensington began sending its rubbish to Purfleet, in what is now the unitary borough of Thurrock. As Lee Jackson recounts in his history of the filthy capital, Dirty Old London, an LCC official cut to the chase when describing the reason for using Essex as a place to dump waste: “The natural solution is to shoot it in some sparsely inhabited district, where public opinion is not strong enough to effectually resent it being deposited.” Essex was out of the way – an extremely convenient place for London’s political class to shift the stuff the powerful did not want in their backyard.At around the same time as the Bovril boats first started their trade, east London vestries such as Mile End bought up land in Essex with the intention of using barges and steam tugs to shift the rubbish they didn’t have space for. In 1889, Kensington began sending its rubbish to Purfleet, in what is now the unitary borough of Thurrock. As Lee Jackson recounts in his history of the filthy capital, Dirty Old London, an LCC official cut to the chase when describing the reason for using Essex as a place to dump waste: “The natural solution is to shoot it in some sparsely inhabited district, where public opinion is not strong enough to effectually resent it being deposited.” Essex was out of the way – an extremely convenient place for London’s political class to shift the stuff the powerful did not want in their backyard.
The practice continues to this day. Last summer, five men from different London locations, including a dentist and a pharmacist, were sentenced after their waste was dumped by unlicensed disposal companies in what became a mile-long fly-tipping site at Purfleet. Epping Forest spends a significant portion of its budget dealing with tonnes of illegally tipped rubbish.The practice continues to this day. Last summer, five men from different London locations, including a dentist and a pharmacist, were sentenced after their waste was dumped by unlicensed disposal companies in what became a mile-long fly-tipping site at Purfleet. Epping Forest spends a significant portion of its budget dealing with tonnes of illegally tipped rubbish.
Essex has also become a kind of dumping ground for people. Thurrock, situated in a no-man’s-land between the city and its green-fringed commuter belt, has been earmarked as one possible solution to London’s housing crisis. Last year, Kensington and Chelsea paid private landlords to house more than 80 homeless families in Thurrock, which put a strain on the borough’s already precarious homeless problem. “They just pay more than we can here,” said John Kent, Labour leader of Thurrock council in September 2015. “Which has a knock-on effect. So we are now really, really struggling to keep apace with the increasing homelessness.” Essex has also become a kind of dumping ground for people. Thurrock, situated in a no-man’s-land between the city and its green-fringed commuter belt, has been earmarked as one possible solution to London’s housing crisis. Last year, London councils paid private landlords to house more than 80 homeless families in Thurrock, which put a strain on the borough’s already precarious homeless problem. “They just pay more than we can here,” said John Kent, Labour leader of Thurrock council in September 2015. “Which has a knock-on effect. So we are now really, really struggling to keep apace with the increasing homelessness.”
As the closest Essex borough to London, the question of what to do about Thurrock’s role as a de facto dumping ground has become mantra-like. The passage of major road traffic through Thurrock, and the factories pumping out chemicals, have contributed to making its air some of the most toxic in the country. For years, the pollution and loss of manufacturing kept house prices down, though there was recently a 17% surge in property values after Thurrock found itself one of the only places many Londoners could afford to buy a home.As the closest Essex borough to London, the question of what to do about Thurrock’s role as a de facto dumping ground has become mantra-like. The passage of major road traffic through Thurrock, and the factories pumping out chemicals, have contributed to making its air some of the most toxic in the country. For years, the pollution and loss of manufacturing kept house prices down, though there was recently a 17% surge in property values after Thurrock found itself one of the only places many Londoners could afford to buy a home.
Mucking Marsh in Thurrock was one of the largest landfills in western Europe, taking on 660,000 tonnes of rubbish from the dustbins of west London each year, brought downriver on barges every day before dawn. “It could be seen from space,” says Graham Harwood, a Goldsmiths academic and artist based in Southend. He and his wife, Matsuko Yokokoji, run the art initiative YoHa, whose recent project Wrecked in the Intertidal Zone unpicked the Essex estuary’s hidden past. “Up until about 1994, they didn’t record what went in the landfill – there were a lot of toxic cocktails.”Mucking Marsh in Thurrock was one of the largest landfills in western Europe, taking on 660,000 tonnes of rubbish from the dustbins of west London each year, brought downriver on barges every day before dawn. “It could be seen from space,” says Graham Harwood, a Goldsmiths academic and artist based in Southend. He and his wife, Matsuko Yokokoji, run the art initiative YoHa, whose recent project Wrecked in the Intertidal Zone unpicked the Essex estuary’s hidden past. “Up until about 1994, they didn’t record what went in the landfill – there were a lot of toxic cocktails.”
Harwood says he has been told by some former drivers at Mucking they would lock themselves in their cab to avoid the stench of gases that came out of the ground. “There was no protection for the drivers, nothing. Sometimes they would see tyres melting.”Harwood says he has been told by some former drivers at Mucking they would lock themselves in their cab to avoid the stench of gases that came out of the ground. “There was no protection for the drivers, nothing. Sometimes they would see tyres melting.”
In 2012, Mucking Marsh stopped taking rubbish, and has been named a site of special scientific interest due to its complex toxicity. Yet it was also recently converted into a nature reserve – by DP World, the company behind the new London Gateway port. Similarly, the landfill Two Tree Island, downriver from Mucking, was converted back into public land in the 1970s, even though some areas are still deemed too dangerous for the public. Evidence of its past is pushing through nonetheless: blackberries, apples, pears, damsons, plums and cherries now all grow from the former dump.In 2012, Mucking Marsh stopped taking rubbish, and has been named a site of special scientific interest due to its complex toxicity. Yet it was also recently converted into a nature reserve – by DP World, the company behind the new London Gateway port. Similarly, the landfill Two Tree Island, downriver from Mucking, was converted back into public land in the 1970s, even though some areas are still deemed too dangerous for the public. Evidence of its past is pushing through nonetheless: blackberries, apples, pears, damsons, plums and cherries now all grow from the former dump.
Another large landfill site at Pitsea is earmarked to be transformed by the RSPB in the next decade. Many of the hills along the estuary – at Beckton and Rainham, for example – might look geological, but are in fact the remnants of former dumping grounds.Another large landfill site at Pitsea is earmarked to be transformed by the RSPB in the next decade. Many of the hills along the estuary – at Beckton and Rainham, for example – might look geological, but are in fact the remnants of former dumping grounds.
Long after the abused landscape has been cleaned up, it lives on, both in soil and in memory. “I remember going to the beach and trying to swim in the estuary one summer in the 1980s,” writes author Rachel Lichtenstein of younger days in Southend in her new book Estuary. “Police were walking up and down the shoreline, warning people of the dangers; there were rumours that there was a risk of polio and other infections from the filthy water drifting in on the tide.”Long after the abused landscape has been cleaned up, it lives on, both in soil and in memory. “I remember going to the beach and trying to swim in the estuary one summer in the 1980s,” writes author Rachel Lichtenstein of younger days in Southend in her new book Estuary. “Police were walking up and down the shoreline, warning people of the dangers; there were rumours that there was a risk of polio and other infections from the filthy water drifting in on the tide.”
The mud keeps the rich away … The last thing I want to see is a regenerated EssexThe mud keeps the rich away … The last thing I want to see is a regenerated Essex
I grew up in Southend too, and remember a similar fear of the murky water: Ian Dury famously contracted polio from paddling in the water at Southend in the late 1940s. Though our home was suffixed with the words “-on-Sea”, we Southenders imagined what might be floating down the river from London to greet us: remains of bodies offloaded by imagined gangsters, raw sewage, three-eyed toxic fish.I grew up in Southend too, and remember a similar fear of the murky water: Ian Dury famously contracted polio from paddling in the water at Southend in the late 1940s. Though our home was suffixed with the words “-on-Sea”, we Southenders imagined what might be floating down the river from London to greet us: remains of bodies offloaded by imagined gangsters, raw sewage, three-eyed toxic fish.
It’s the tension between the city and its unwanted sprawl that has given Essex its role as London’s put-upon other. Essex’s noted inferiority complex, fostered through media caricatures, is rooted in its status as a place consigned to such fates. An upshot of this is an attitude not too dissimilar to Millwall supporters: no one likes us, we don’t care. “It’s a great protector – the mud keeps the rich away,” says Goldsmith’s Harwood when I asked him about Essex being cleaned up and sanitised. “I really worry about it. The last thing I want to see is a regenerated Essex. That would be the end for me. It’s got fantastic character.”It’s the tension between the city and its unwanted sprawl that has given Essex its role as London’s put-upon other. Essex’s noted inferiority complex, fostered through media caricatures, is rooted in its status as a place consigned to such fates. An upshot of this is an attitude not too dissimilar to Millwall supporters: no one likes us, we don’t care. “It’s a great protector – the mud keeps the rich away,” says Goldsmith’s Harwood when I asked him about Essex being cleaned up and sanitised. “I really worry about it. The last thing I want to see is a regenerated Essex. That would be the end for me. It’s got fantastic character.”
Crossrail has been dumping more than just skeletons in Essex. The RSPB is using more than 3m tonnes of material excavated from Crossrail’s tunnel digs to raise part of Wallasea Island at the mouth of the Thames by an average of 1.5m, transforming farmland into coastal marshland and creating lagoons across 670 hectares to supposedly “restore” the marshland to the state it was 500 years ago. Not everyone is thrilled with the outcome: some local fishermen complained that the alterations to the coastline have depleted fish breeding grounds and pose a risk to oyster beds, claims that the RSPB and Crossrail dispute. “We did some water quality testing and proved we have not caused any issues,” says the RSPB’s Wallasea Island project manager Chris Tyas. “Changes in fish populations are more likely caused by wetter winters.”Crossrail has been dumping more than just skeletons in Essex. The RSPB is using more than 3m tonnes of material excavated from Crossrail’s tunnel digs to raise part of Wallasea Island at the mouth of the Thames by an average of 1.5m, transforming farmland into coastal marshland and creating lagoons across 670 hectares to supposedly “restore” the marshland to the state it was 500 years ago. Not everyone is thrilled with the outcome: some local fishermen complained that the alterations to the coastline have depleted fish breeding grounds and pose a risk to oyster beds, claims that the RSPB and Crossrail dispute. “We did some water quality testing and proved we have not caused any issues,” says the RSPB’s Wallasea Island project manager Chris Tyas. “Changes in fish populations are more likely caused by wetter winters.”
A Crossrail exhibition called Tunnel: the archaeology of Crossrail will open at the Museum of London Docklands in February 2017, featuring one of the skeletons found at Bedlam, which DNA shows died from plague. It is also planning to install a memorial to Bedlam’s dead at Willow cemetery on Canvey, and another at Liverpool Street station in London – marking the perpetual eastern passage of London’s emigres, whether dead or alive. The old insecurity remains. “There were loads of rumours,” says John Harris about locals’ reaction to the news that the Bedlam “plague pit” skeletons were coming to their neighbourhood. “One was we were bringing the black death to Canvey. You get these visions of the grim reaper.”A Crossrail exhibition called Tunnel: the archaeology of Crossrail will open at the Museum of London Docklands in February 2017, featuring one of the skeletons found at Bedlam, which DNA shows died from plague. It is also planning to install a memorial to Bedlam’s dead at Willow cemetery on Canvey, and another at Liverpool Street station in London – marking the perpetual eastern passage of London’s emigres, whether dead or alive. The old insecurity remains. “There were loads of rumours,” says John Harris about locals’ reaction to the news that the Bedlam “plague pit” skeletons were coming to their neighbourhood. “One was we were bringing the black death to Canvey. You get these visions of the grim reaper.”
He even consulted the World Health Organisation and went on the radio to dispel local fears about safety. “The interviewer said it was funny: people who move here have usually left London and found a sanctuary in Essex – and it’s the same for the remains that we are bringing,” he said. “Except these people have been dead a few hundred years.”He even consulted the World Health Organisation and went on the radio to dispel local fears about safety. “The interviewer said it was funny: people who move here have usually left London and found a sanctuary in Essex – and it’s the same for the remains that we are bringing,” he said. “Except these people have been dead a few hundred years.”
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• This article was amended on 1 November 2016. An earlier version said the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea housed 80 homeless families in Thurrock in 2015. In fact it housed 11 families there, with London councils collectively housing 80.