“If you want to feel the weight of history, stand still here for a moment. Beneath your feet, beneath the flowers and pathways, lies a patchwork of lives – stories carved into stone, some remembered, many forgotten.”

Greenhill is home to two historic graveyards, each telling a part of Swansea’s story.

The first is the burial ground that wraps around this site – the churchyard of what was once St John’s-juxta-Swansea, later called St Matthew’s Church, and now home to Matthew’s House. For over two centuries, this was a resting place for Swansea’s working poor, its artisans, and its everyday families. The stones here are not grand or polished — they are weathered, humble, and often hard to read. But they carry names of people who built this city with their hands, who lived through cholera, famine, war, and poverty.

Some graves carry heartbreaking stories. Entire families buried after outbreaks of disease. Children who never reached their first birthday. Mothers like Jane Padley, whose story you’ve already heard, now remembered through a carefully raised headstone just metres from where you stand.

This ground also holds names connected to literature, like Ann of Swansea, whose remarkable life we’ll hear about in the next section.

Just beyond the boundary wall, down what is now Swan Street, lies the second burial ground, once known as the St Mary’s Additional Cemetery. This plot was opened in 1833 because the original churchyards in Swansea were so overcrowded that there was simply no more room to bury the dead.

But even this new ground quickly fell into disrepair. In 1879, a local resident wrote to The Cambrian newspaper describing it as “a picture of desolation… tombstones broken, tilting into the soil, weeds everywhere, and no sign of care for the bodies buried beneath.” It was a damning reflection of how easily the lives of ordinary people, the poor, the working class – could be forgotten once they were gone.

Thankfully, in 1887, a man named John Hopkins raised funds to restore the graveyards. He planted trees, laid paths, and tried to bring dignity back to this place. His efforts were seen as an act of communal respect, a way of saying: “You mattered. We remember you.”

Today, that same spirit of respect continues.

When Matthew’s House took on this site, long before Greenhill Gardens was created, we carried out detailed mapping, 3D scans, and careful documentation of the headstones. We wanted to ensure that nothing, no name, no stone, no story, would be lost from our early years of being there. We now have an archive of over 4,000 burial records connected to this site, preserving the memory of the people who rest here.

As you walk the paths, notice how the garden blends the old with the new, historic headstones alongside bug hotels, sculptures, and places to sit. This is not just a garden; it’s a place of memory and renewal. Where once there was neglect and overgrowth, there is now life, bees buzzing and flowers blooming.

The graveyards of Greenhill remind us that every life has value, from the poorest copper smelter to the celebrated poet, from the mother of seventeen to the unknown sailor whose name has faded from the stone.

As you stand here, maybe take a quiet moment. Let yourself feel the presence of those who came before you. Their lives built this city. Their struggles gave shape to its character. And through this garden, their memory lives on.