Roaming Towards Myself

Today I went back to Teddington Cemetery to find the grave of R. D. Blackmore, who wrote Lorna Doone in 1869.

That probably sounds oddly specific to some people, but Lorna Doone was one of my favourite books when I was a young girl. I always loved reading, and I was especially drawn to strong, intelligent female characters long before I could have explained why they mattered to me.

I had already wandered through this cemetery once and been struck by how beautiful it was. Bluebells everywhere, old stones, leaning crosses, huge old trees, blossom, and that quiet feeling old cemeteries sometimes have when they feel peaceful rather than sad.

What made it even stranger was that, out of all the headstones there, I stopped in front of one straight away and noticed the date on it was 10 July… my birthday. Out of all the graves in the cemetery, that was the one that caught my eye.

Then I discovered that R. D. Blackmore was buried there too.

So back I went today, coffee first, mission underway, and after a bit of searching I found his grave.

It felt oddly special standing there. Not because I think life neatly arranges everything for us, but because every now and then you do stumble into a moment where several things you’ve always loved seem to meet in one place. Old things. Cemeteries. Books. Writing. History. Quiet beauty.

I came for the bluebells, old stones and atmosphere. I went back for a writer I loved as a girl. Finding his grave made the whole place feel even more memorable.