Camperdown Cemetery

Peaceful cemetery the adjoining park which is now the "dog park" is also the old cemetery and has 18,000 people buried under it but they only have 2000 headstones salvaged and moved into the church along the surrounding walls. There are some beautiful memorials that still stand but time has worn some of the engravings

Here lies a lot of stories which are forgotten. The stones are barley readable, because some are two hundred years old! It's a pretty place for photography, not that big, light is good and has a lot of atmosphere in this setting. Dogs are allowed to walk off leash.

Peaceful old cemetery, full of charm and character, with lush vegetation and crooked tombs. Perfect for a slow meditative walk before the hussle and bustle of nearby King Street.

This was @ nighttime so I couldn’t read the headstones - But apparently, there’s a role-call of famous names buried here. Nevertheless, it’s still pretty spectacular.

Boasting more goths per square metre than a Robert Smith concert the cemetery features big trees and creepy gravestones. A mix of kept and unkept tombstones the cemetery is serene and historic. A lovely place to explore the history of Newtown or take a piss when the portaloos are full during the Newtown festival. It has something for everyone.

Visiting the old church and cemetery was like stepping back in time.⛪️

Brings you back to 18th century Sydney...A must for any Newtown visitor.

True rundown old gothic cemetery with a unique vibe

Hey! Who hid this sneaky little bad boy back here? Often, when I was sailing three sheets to the wind at the Newtown Festival, with a sauce-laden haute dog in one hand and a cold damned beer in t'other, I'd look up at the big grey bulwark of a wall, stained and monolithic, huge and ancient, and wonder what was on the other side. Narnia, most probably. But damned if I didn't find out the answer just by accident. Had a meeting up on King St. Parked down the side street near St Stephens. Had some time to kill (hey look, a cemetery pun) and wandered in to look at the church but overshot, ending in this quiet, sprawling, crumbling, beautifully decrepit graveyard bounded by the wall, yes, the bulwark, beyond which is Newtown's celebrated park, that very festival site where I've seen so many bands and tried on so many hats. Jeebus it's got a lot going for it. I was the only one in there, wandering around reading the gravestones (my favourite had a big rusty propeller, was erected by the mates of some shipbuilder that died, possibly tragically) and all I could think was, Man, if I was in a band this is where I'd shoot my music video. I walked out feeling cool, calm and collected, like the Dalai Lama must feel every day of his life. That feeling is hard to get these days.

In the middle of busy, grimy Newtown is this beautiful walled cemetery in the grounds of St Stephen's Church. It offers peace and tranquility where you never thought you would find it. There are plenty of shady trees and tombstones, with lush grass interweaving a path between them. An oasis where you can't hear traffic noise or see anything commercial, it's a great place to get away from it all. You will find people wandering through and reading the inscriptions, walking their dog, sitting in a circle playing music, smoking the funny stuff and generally just hanging out. It's my favourite place to come the day after the night before with something greasy from King Street (eg Clem's Chicken) and let nature restore my health.

No, I'm not a goth looking for somewhere to palely loiter. This is actually a beautiful piece of green space just behind busy King Street and packed full of historical interest. Open every day during daylight hours, it's a little tree-dense haven used by locals as a place to walk, to sit and to visit the past. When I wandered through the other day there was an old guy taking the Hound of the Baskervilles for a walk which added to the atmosphere nicely. You walk past the old cottage and ginormous over 150 year-old fig tree and are presented with rows of sculpture, glorious trees, a bamboo grove thick enough to disappear into forever, and a chance to reflect. I find it a great antidote for those days when it's tempting to feel a bit sorry for yourself. A quick glance at the amount of graves marked with 'aged 12 months', 'aged 18 months', deaths by drowning and disease and you soon feel pretty darn grateful. You can find here the grave of Eliza Donnithorne, said to be the 'real' Miss Havisham, a tribute to 'the whole of the Aboriginal race' as well as those named and unnamed buried here, and erected in 1944. The stories are incredible, and I was thrilled to find tours are now being offered on the first Sunday of the month. Contact tours@ststephens.org.au. As for feeling grateful, there's a great phallic monstrosity on your left as you go in, in memory of a masonic lodge-master recorded as 'James Blair, Esq. JP'. Underneath, almost as a literal footnote, is his wife Elizabeth, recorded only as 'Relict of the Above'. Gee, thanks. She outlived him by six years, bet they were happy ones.