I decided it was none of the subterranean occupants; I’m
sure they’ve long since moved on by now, and graveyards have never frightened
me. Besides, the presence, for want of a better word, felt behind me. It was
the church itself, or something in the church.
I reasoned, for want of yet another better word, that the
genius loci might be an objective and sentient phenomenon, and that it was the
spirit of the building that was taking notice of me. The feeling was slightly
creepy but in no way malevolent, so I decided to enjoy it. I used to get a
similar feeling in a wood close to another cottage in another village where I
lived in the 1980s.
* * *
So then I began to wonder just how many bodies are really
buried there. The headstones only go back about 400 years, but there’s been a church
on the spot for 12-1300 years. That suggests there are rather more people
taking their final rest than have headstones to attest to their presence. And
I paid my respects to the lady Isabella, as usual.
* * *
By a strange coincidence, on the way back I missed HT54 by
seconds. That’s the mystery in the tail.
6 comments:
Reading this makes my heart ache over not having a 13th century wall to go sit on :(
I expect you sat on lots in the 13th century. Besides, the current wall is the NEW one. I've never found out whether the foundations are also 'new,' or whether they belonged to the earlier Norman or Saxon churches. (St Barlok was a Saxon saint, apparently.) I bet you'd like the grooves in the wall where the men used to sharpen their arrows, though.
Go on, rub it in ;)
Yes, that sounds like the best part. I think i told you once about an article i read with photos of a wall in an ancient Middle Eastern or Mediterranean city that still has finger markings on it from a worker who smoothed the mortar on. That also makes me heartsick.
I also recently read about a goddess figure that has been found and is believed to possibly date to around 800,000 BCE. !!! It blows my mind to think of someone, (and someone... a person not a homosapien?!) that long ago making art... forging that type of spiritual connection... contemplating those things. Its one of those things that's hard to stop thinking about.
I wonder if they told each other heroic poems round the camp fire as well.
'Thence came a mighty mastodon
I climbed a tree 'til it was gone.'
Giant mastodon in the sky
why'd you doodie...
You can be tonight's steak pie?
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