I have long had a sense that the ordinary folk of England have not taken Christianity too seriously since Henry made such a mess of it, and this applies especially to far flung villages. This is a real gem from W.H Hudson’s wonderful book ‘Afoot in England’. I think this is somewhere in Devon – Hudson can be infuriatingly vague at times. He writes of arriving in the loveliest village he had ever seen, which was utterly silent.
“I was wishing that I had come a little earlier on the scene to have had time to borrow the key of the church and get a sight of the interior, when all at once I heard a shrill voice and a boy appeared running across the wide green space of the churchyard. A second boy followed, then another, then still others, and I saw they were going into the church by…
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