Redcross way was quiet, empty, and suddenly a bit eerie. I felt quite alone in this still stretch of lane that runs between two busy roads just south of the Thames.
A plaque told me that this was the site of the Crossbones Graveyard, from late medieval times an unconsecrated burial site for prostitutes – and later, paupers – until its closure in the 19th century on public-health grounds. The “shrine” around it honoured up to 15,000 bodies buried on the site, and was, I read, a “place of healing where the Wild Feminine is honoured and celebrated for all that she is – whore and virgin, mother and lover, maiden and crone, creator and destroyer”.