More than a week after visiting West Norwood Cemetery in south London, the backs of my legs are still scratched from the brambles that clamber over the graves. Nature’s barbed wire. What a contrast to the miniature city that is Recoleta Cemetery.

Not only are Christian names like María and Marcelina replaced with the likes of Ethel and Maude, but here there is the chance of soft grass and the occasional crackle of dried-out holly underfoot. Squirrels scutter past and the landscape of stone crosses and headstones is dotted with buttercups and clover, mottled crab apples and blackberries, and huge mounds of polished ivy. Weeping willows swoosh their branches against the ground; peaceful, but streaked with sorrow.

Up by the crematorium, with its fortunate, sweeping views of London, stand the magnificent terracotta mausoleums of Sir Henry Tate, of Tate & Lyle cubed sugar fame, and Sir Henry Doulton, the first potter to be knighted by Queen Victoria. It was inevitable that I would try to capture some reflections in the glass doors here too, and so I bring you my Homage to Sir Henry Doulton.

The oak leaves seem to have crept through the green glazed windows, swirling by the reflected cross and filling the tomb with an emerald haze, blurring the distinction between inside and out. This mirrors the feeling I had at the cemetery of nature weaving all around me, through me even, connecting the stories of those who have gone before. And the oak – strong, enduring, wise – is just right for a man who contributed much in his lifetime and whose name still lives on today.