A teacher of my father's once told him that he probably had Huguenot blood, a guess based, I presume, on his mother's maiden name, Minford. And ever since he told me this, I've rather liked the idea of having a drop or two of French blood. I would say it accounts for the bad temper, but I suspect being Irish covers that ... But I digress. Wandsworth wasn't always best known for its prison, or being home to Gordon Ramsay. Back in the 17th century it provided a rural base for the wealthy Huguenot cloth and dye merchants lured there by the twin benefits of religious freedom and the River Wandle. And not only did they live here (many of their homes still standing, now split into flats) but they also died and were buried in Wandsworth.
The Huguenot graveyard, known as Mount Nod, is still there, marooned in traffic in the middle of the south circular. The space between the graves is relatively tidy, but the graves themselves are for the most part in a dreadful way - trees growing through stone, names so worn as to be illegible. I can't decide whether to be sad at its neglect or relieved that it hasn't been cleared to make way for yet more swanky flats.
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