Friday, 18 March 2016

Rolling Away The Stone

Once again finding myself briefly at a loose end in North-East Somerset, I took myself off to a village with a church.  The first thing that struck me is how the seasons have turned since the last time I was in this area, about six weeks ago.  Then it was still very wintry, now - well, it's ever so slightly more colourful.

This is All Saints Church in Corston (not to be confused with Corston, Wilts). The present church dates from the 14th century and its stumpy 'candle-snuffer' spire (one of only 18 on mediaeval churches in Somerset) gives it a homely appearance.
 Much of the fabric of the interior has been swept away, however, and I found few traces of the distant past.  Though if you are a church in need of new choir furniture, these modern Gothic examples are a fine option (here with the Millennium tapestry behind). 

Bit of a surprise in the churchyard, in this monument of Jesus, rather than the more usual angel - in fact, I'm not sure I've seen one before, at least not this big.  He presides over a grave containing various Bartelts, a well-to do family of Prussian origin. 

Coming from a rather plainer religious  background , this old rugged cross was altogether more familiar to me.  

It was a beautiful day to wander about a bit, with views over the valley and marshy brook that gives the village its name.

There are always moments of melancholy on such meanders. The graves of children ... 
... and of those who left room for their loved ones, only for the ungrateful And Also's to carry on living and move on - and into another's grave.  
Though that's what it's for, isn't it? Living. 

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