Cross Bones

It is a crisp winter's night on an old, narrow London street and though some of the capital's top attractions are just a few hundred metres away, all is eerily quiet.

Half way along the dimly lit road, rusty iron gates stand, covered in hundreds of brightly coloured feathers, flowers and faded photos.

There is movement in the distance. Figures young and old descend upon the street, a few at a time. They carry candles, musical instruments and flasks of tea.

Redcross Way, near London Bridge, in south London, is a place of pilgrimage and this is the night of its monthly vigil.

On the other side of the gates lies a once-forgotten graveyard for the outcasts of society - called Cross Bones.
 

Read about my visit to the vigil.