Hidden London: Dancing On A Clown's Grave
Clowns can provoke strong emotions. Love them or hate them, there's a place in London where dancing on a clown's grave is encouraged
The Pentonville Road, rising gently from the horrible chaos at the front of King’s Cross station is an unfortunate looking street. On the finest of summer days, it manages to remain dull-grey. Despite its permanently crowded pavements, it feels strangely lifeless. I don’t like it. I walk along it as quickly as possible, plugged into my music, keeping my eyes on the ground to avoid obstacles, occasionally observing a pigeon pecking half-heartedly at a pool of sick, continuously thinking about mindless, pointless stuff, until I reach Angel and the landscape improves a little.
I was wrong to write this ugly, miserable street off. Like so much of London, it has hidden depths; strange treasures that are easy to miss. On the left hand side of the road, about halfway up the hill, is an eccentric green square, named Joseph Grimaldi Park, after the most famous of all clowns. From the pavement it looks deeply uninspiring. A set of low railings reveals a padlocked gate - not especially inviting. If you walk down Rodney Street (to the right as you look at the park), there is an entrance path that takes you past a peculiar wall of gravestones, relics from a cemetery that form a morbid mural, leading to a grave enclosed by black iron railings. This park was once the burial ground of St James’s Anglican Chapel.
The grave has an interesting story. Marked by a pair of black tragedy/comedy masks, this is the last resting place of Joseph Grimaldi, considered to be a pioneer in his field, a godfather of modern clowns. The gravestone inside the railings is fairly worn, but a plaque at the front gives details about this clown’s life.
Grimaldi was born in Westminster in 1788 to a family of performers who had moved from Italy to London a few decades previously. He was a talented dancer and actor, but when he was only nine, his father died. Grimaldi went to work in the theatre, taking “harlequin” roles to help support his family.
At some point, he decided to paint his face white, with lurid lips and eyebrows, transforming the tasteful harlequin make-up and costume into something positively terrifying. This, together with his fondness for brightly coloured clothing, defined him as a pioneer of modern clowning. Apparently clowns are sometimes known as “Joeys” in tribute to Grimaldi. He’s clearly a very big deal.
I spend a lot of time in graveyards, looking for famous or weird graves. Recently in Père Lachaise cemetery in Paris, I found a wonderful grave with a bronze sleeping figure, whose generously bulging crotch had been rubbed to a powerful shine.
Grimaldi’s grave is more simple - a plain headstone with some flowers and ribbons, but this is not the only tribute to the famous clown.
A bizarre pair of coffin lids in another section of the park has been designed specifially to bring joy to visitors, through dance. Each lid is divided into sections, which when trodden upon, react by playing musical notes. Artist Henry Krokatsis designed the pair of coffins to celebrate the lives of both Grimaldi and his boss, Charles Dibdin (who ran Sadlers Wells theatre).
The installation is called “An Invitation to Dance On The Grave”, one I did not personally accept, but its main purpose is to show that joy can be possible, even after a death.
If you like clowns (or you don’t, but want to give yourself the most enormous creeps) then head to All Saints, Haggerston on the first Sunday in February. It is an annual memorial service for Joseph Grimaldi, where clowns gather, fully dressed up in their best clown gear, to remember the father of their craft. After Mass, some head to the grave to pay their respects - it’s quite the sight.
If you can’t make it that week, then there is another opportunity to catch clowns in the park. On the anniversary of Grimaldi’s death, 31st May, groups of clowns make a pilgimage to the grave to pay their respects. I couldn’t help it, please forgive me, but I keep imagining myself stumbling down the Pentonville Road after a rather late night, being confronted by a park packed with clowns and I can’t stop laughing. I know it’s not nice, but honestly - just imagine it!
Do we need clowns? I think so. I’m not scared of them, as it happens, but I’m not hugely keen either. But anything, really anything that can bring joy in this miserable dark winter has my vote. So go to the park, dance on the grave and let me know if you make it to the clown service.
