
Now, Crossbones doesn't look like a cemetery - it doesn't have gravestones or mausolea, and you can't wander through its grounds like Brompton Cemetery, but you won't miss it - just look for the metal gates covered in flowers, beads, dolls and ribbons and adorned with a brass plaque that reads: R.I.P. the Outcast Dead.
No one knows quite how old Crossbones is. The earliest reference to the graveyard comes from John Stow's Survey of London, written in 1598. He writes: "I have heard of ancient men, of good credit, report that these single women were forbidden the rites of the church, so long as they continued that sinful life, and were excluded from Christian burial if they were not reconciled before their death. And therefore there was a plot of ground called the Single Woman's churchyard, appointed for them far from the parish church." You may have guessed that 'Single Woman' is a euphemism for 'prostitute'.
Their activities may have been legal but these women were still personae non gratae in society. After they died they were forbidden from being laid to rest in consecrated ground - instead they received a shallow pit and a shovel of quicklime on the edge of the Bishop's lands: the patch that became Crossbones Cemetery.

Henry VIII annulled his ancestor's ordinance in 1546 and the licenced brothels closed, but Crossbones continued to be used as a burial ground for the most wretched members of society. By the 19th century the area around the site had become a cholera-infested slum and the graveyard was finally closed as it had become "completely overcharged with dead" and "inconsistent with a due regard for the public health and public decency".
What next for this lonely spot? In 1883 the land was sold as a building site but after public outcry - and Lord Brabazon writing a letter to The Times condemning this act of "desecration" - the sale was declared void under the 1884 Disused Burial Grounds Act.
The Outcast Dead lay peacefully for 100 years until their slumber was disturbed once more in the 1990s. Extension work on the Jubilee Line led to part of the cemetery being excavated by the Museum of London Archaeology Service between 1991 and 1998. Archaeologists found and removed 148 skeletons, mostly women, many of whom showed signs of tuberculosis, syphilis, smallpox and other diseases. They reported that the burial site was very overcrowded, with bodies layered on top of each other.

The most recent threat to the cemetery comes from Drivers Jonas Deloitte and TFL who are interested in marketing the site as a 'Landmark Court' for development from 2012. The Friends of Crossbones Cemetery are fighting to create a permenant memorial garden there instead. You can read about their campaign - and more information about the cemetery - here.
Having reached the metal gates of Crossbones Cemetery I stand for a moment in quiet thought while bright ribbons wave in the breeze. No traffic passes down Redcross Way, and the street is a shady island of tranquility and stillness between hectically busy roads. This is my fifth or sixth visit to Crossbones but it is still very moving to stand before these tokens of public compassion and acceptance, to think of those quiet sleepers behind the gates who never knew this kind of love while they lived. I stoop to read some of the names printed on weather-tattered and faded strips of cloth and wonder who went to the trouble to find out the names of the 17th and 18th-century women recorded here. Then, taking a pale pink ribbon from my satchel I reach up and knot it securely around one of the railings, near the bronze plaque that, erected by the local council, is as close to an official commemoration as any of the Outcast Dead have ever had. I stand a moment longer, my ribbon already lost amongst the other loving tokens, just one strand of colour among many in this rippling, living memorial. And then it's time to go home.