A short visit to Postman’s Park
Today I went to visit the odd and wonderful Postman’s Park near St Paul’s Cathedral.
I was sent there by my secretive handler, as the first of possibly numerous adventures. The park is relatively small, and is located a short 5 minutes walking distance north of one of the loveliest tourist attractions in London.
The main attraction in the park is not it’s flowers and trees, but rather a remarkable memorial wall to ordinary folk who gave their lives to save others. Each brief story is documented in a tile, with the name, occupation and age of the rescuer, the location of the incident, and a few words about the context, the person saved, and the cause of death of the rescuer. For example, 23-years-old John Cranmer, a London clerk originally from Cambridge, drowned while saving the life of a stranger and a foreigner, on August 8 1901.
The vast majority of courageous and tragic acts commemorated here took place between 1870 and 1910. As such, most deaths involve drownings, fires, train and horse accidents, and small-scale industrial disasters. Several of the tiles document the deaths of children, most of whom died while saving younger siblings or companions.
The historical distance takes some of the edge off the tragic nature of the events described. Still, the weight of death is very present, more so than in most cemeteries, and conversation snatches overheard focused on anecdotes and oddities in the stories, rather than the general message, the celebration of exceptional deeds. The feelings and thoughts provoked by the tiles are not easy to put into words, and they do not make for good light-hearted afternoon conversation. This does not mean, however, that the memorial in Postman’s Park lacks in value — not all valuable experiences should, or could, be adequately described in words.
Instead of neatly packaged words, allow me to share with you little snippets of thoughts and questions, mental avenues that raced through my head (and still do) as I read through the tiles and reflected on a bench in the garden:
It is better to save a life and live, than it is to save a life and die, so why do we celebrate the latter more vehemently than the former?
We have come a long way, as a society, in eliminating brutish and stupid ways of dying young. The stories in Postman’s Park, or something similar, personal and meaningful, should be part of the appreciation of the importance of health and safety.
How does one foster the ethics and convictions required for self-sacrifice, especially to save those who are “others”, in places where such tendencies are painfully lacking?
It is good to celebrate heroes of “ordinary backgrounds”, but they are clearly in the minority of heroic representations. What can be done to make commemoration more representative of the cohort of the virtuous, past and present? What benefit is there, if at all, in amending such representation?
Why is it that in some cases a dangerous and violent environment leads to social cohesion, and in other cases such an environment leads to suspicion, hatred and social fragmentation?
Must one be in a particular mood or state of mind to appreciate the enormity of meaning of a place like Postman’s Park?
The disasters recorded in the tiles were, most likely, loud and chaotic, yet we remember them in quiet and peace. Is this appropriate?
Next time you are in London, and have a free afternoon, especially on a weekend, go alone or with a loved one for a short visit to Postman’s Park. Read slowly through the tiles, hold hands, sit on a bench and look up at the sky and the trees.
Plenty of information is available about Postman’s Park online. You could start your virtual journey in the obvious place.
