Postman’s Park, a quiet and peaceful space in London, a former churchyard, (there are several tombstones stacked up against the walls), and called so because it was a favourite lunchtime garden of workers from the General Post Office, and people still eat their lunch there. Inside you’ll see plenty of trees, a fountain in the centre of a small pond that contains fish, (Koi, I think), a sundial, and tucked in a corner, almost hidden, a memorial to some people who died trying to save others. There are those who sacrificed themselves to save family members, often a younger sibling, or a friend, but there’s quite a few there that perished attempting to save complete strangers.
The descriptions of how they died seem strange at first, a bit archaic, though most of these events happened a relatively short time ago. It’s interesting to see how much our language has changed, but doesn’t distract from the stories or their sadness and tragedy.