slope headed down to a little pebble beach, the beach she had come
to find. Next to the undulating rough sea, it had a smattering of grey
pebbles and several fingers of jagged shale rock. It was small and
pleasant but it was not what grabbed her attention.
Set
back from the beach and being overgrown by long grass, stood a church.
The small construction stood lopsided in the valley just off of the cove.
It was made of stone, had sunken down many years ago, at the tower end, and was
surrounded by a low stone wall.
Intrigued,
Robyn turned to the right, bypassed a lone great oak tree that stood
overlooking the cliff like a guardian, and started heading down on what
appeared to be an old path sunken into the grass.
Approaching
the church yard, Robyn could now see that the low wall she had seen from the
cliff top was not low at all. It was, in fact, waist high. Covered
in luscious grasses, the wall had appeared to be much shorter due to the top
third being the only visible portion. It had clearly been built by a
skilled craftsman many years ago and was showing signs of age. Irregular
and differently sized stones had been placed in such a way that there was
barely a gap between each and for many years the wall had stood against the
ravages of the wind coming off of the sea. Even now, most of it stood as
true as the day it had been erected. In a few places, and only where the
wall was not protected by the binding layer of grass, the stones had come apart
and the wall had begun to crumble.
Passing
the long wall, Robyn moved to a little gate. Cast iron and moulded in a
filigree design, the once blackened metal gate, now leaned precariously against
nettles and grew into the grass. It stood oxidizing in the sea air and
the salt coming off of the ocean had taken its toll. Corroded and
fragile, the gate stood open, hanging by only one remaining hinge. It was
a travesty that this once cared for building had been left abandoned and the
sheer loneliness of its isolation drew Robyn in.
Lifting
her knees high to walk through long grass, Robyn headed for the church,
treading carefully on the remnants of a little path of stepping stones.
Clearly
old, the church was fairly plain in construction, with no ornate carvings and
no figures on the outside. The tower was square with a simple roof
structure and had no spire. There were stone vents over the tower windows
to both protect the church bell from the elements and to enable the ring to
disseminate out as far as possible in order to encourage the local folk to
mass. Lichens mottled the stonework and modern plywood boarded up the
windows and the door. The board, bleached in the sunlight, matched the
shade of the stone walls but where screws holding the boards in place had
rusted, trails of darkness streaked down the wood. It was clear that the
church had been abandoned for many years. It had been left to slowly
disappear under the inevitable spread of nature as she reclaimed her
land.
Slightly
disappointed that she couldn’t look inside, Robyn turned to the only thing she could
have a look at; the gravestones.
On
either side of the main door, two large stone slabs lay horizontal to the ground,
raised by only a couple of inches. These marked the final resting place
of two previous vicars from the mid-1700s as far as she could make out from the
erosion of the letters. The script chosen for the lettering was difficult to
read despite the age and her visual impairment didn’t help. Robyn turned
west and headed for the first headstone that was still standing.
Deciphering
what she could, it soon became apparent to Robyn that the headstones closest to
the door were the oldest. She saw recurrences of names, as members of the
same family had been laid to rest near each other, and noticed the delicate
ages of those who had died. Not many lived to what you would call ‘old
age’ back then and there were a lot of children.
Heading
further around the
to find. Next to the undulating rough sea, it had a smattering of grey
pebbles and several fingers of jagged shale rock. It was small and
pleasant but it was not what grabbed her attention.
Set
back from the beach and being overgrown by long grass, stood a church.
The small construction stood lopsided in the valley just off of the cove.
It was made of stone, had sunken down many years ago, at the tower end, and was
surrounded by a low stone wall.
Intrigued,
Robyn turned to the right, bypassed a lone great oak tree that stood
overlooking the cliff like a guardian, and started heading down on what
appeared to be an old path sunken into the grass.
Approaching
the church yard, Robyn could now see that the low wall she had seen from the
cliff top was not low at all. It was, in fact, waist high. Covered
in luscious grasses, the wall had appeared to be much shorter due to the top
third being the only visible portion. It had clearly been built by a
skilled craftsman many years ago and was showing signs of age. Irregular
and differently sized stones had been placed in such a way that there was
barely a gap between each and for many years the wall had stood against the
ravages of the wind coming off of the sea. Even now, most of it stood as
true as the day it had been erected. In a few places, and only where the
wall was not protected by the binding layer of grass, the stones had come apart
and the wall had begun to crumble.
Passing
the long wall, Robyn moved to a little gate. Cast iron and moulded in a
filigree design, the once blackened metal gate, now leaned precariously against
nettles and grew into the grass. It stood oxidizing in the sea air and
the salt coming off of the ocean had taken its toll. Corroded and
fragile, the gate stood open, hanging by only one remaining hinge. It was
a travesty that this once cared for building had been left abandoned and the
sheer loneliness of its isolation drew Robyn in.
Lifting
her knees high to walk through long grass, Robyn headed for the church,
treading carefully on the remnants of a little path of stepping stones.
Clearly
old, the church was fairly plain in construction, with no ornate carvings and
no figures on the outside. The tower was square with a simple roof
structure and had no spire. There were stone vents over the tower windows
to both protect the church bell from the elements and to enable the ring to
disseminate out as far as possible in order to encourage the local folk to
mass. Lichens mottled the stonework and modern plywood boarded up the
windows and the door. The board, bleached in the sunlight, matched the
shade of the stone walls but where screws holding the boards in place had
rusted, trails of darkness streaked down the wood. It was clear that the
church had been abandoned for many years. It had been left to slowly
disappear under the inevitable spread of nature as she reclaimed her
land.
Slightly
disappointed that she couldn’t look inside, Robyn turned to the only thing she could
have a look at; the gravestones.
On
either side of the main door, two large stone slabs lay horizontal to the ground,
raised by only a couple of inches. These marked the final resting place
of two previous vicars from the mid-1700s as far as she could make out from the
erosion of the letters. The script chosen for the lettering was difficult to
read despite the age and her visual impairment didn’t help. Robyn turned
west and headed for the first headstone that was still standing.
Deciphering
what she could, it soon became apparent to Robyn that the headstones closest to
the door were the oldest. She saw recurrences of names, as members of the
same family had been laid to rest near each other, and noticed the delicate
ages of those who had died. Not many lived to what you would call ‘old
age’ back then and there were a lot of children.
Heading
further around the
Similar Books
