Above: gigantic heaps of sugar beet.
Because the service (the first Sunday before Lent) started at eight, I had to be up at six this morning. An hour’s drive took me to the middle heathlands, and then slightly down the escarpment past gigantic heaps of sugar beet. The tiny church was outside the village in open countryside, the small churchyard bounded by layered hawthorn hedges and dotted with neatly clipped yews.
Inside about fifteen people had gathered, with a few others arriving afterwards. The interior was almost entirely Victorian – whitewashed walls, bulky organ, rich pink brocade curtains at the east end, coloured and patterned encaustic tiles on the floor, low pews with a convenient ridge so you could prop up your service book, hassocks that were proper drum-shaped cushions (very comfortable). A dazzling amount of brass was in the church, well-designed and spotlessly clean (including two large free-standing six-light candelabras either side of the altar, a brass chandelier, and a set of brass vases).
The Vicar was a large lady in a rather shapeless white surplice and a green stole with rainbows at each end. Her manner had a pleasant sort of briskness, that reminded me of the Vicar of Dibley. We said the service, no hymns and no sermon, the communion cup a small silver chalice.
Everything about the service was faultless. Every detail of the church was perfect. The people were all very friendly and told me how “nice” the church was (as if congratulating me on finding out their secret).
As I was leaving the Vicar (who looks after six villages in all, as part of a team) told me: “You should come back for the August teas! Every Sunday in August between three and five-thirty they have the most wonderful home-made teas here. It’s their main fund-raiser, and people come to them from miles around”.
Above: the notice sheet included a recipe for pancakes – Shrove Tuesday is this Tuesday.
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