Plodging through the clart (part 2)

Escaping the muddy morass that is the garden at the moment, we headed for the cemetery on Sunday. A vast calm expanse of history, interspersed with many yew trees.

A wonderful environment for mosses and lichens. Some of the gravestones looked as if a lichened rusty tap had been endlessly dripping down their faces. Others seemed to be engraved by moss.

The vast variety of form and epitaph was fascinating, all provoked thoughts about lives of the past.

This one in particular. Why no details of her birth or death dates, her husband or family? Someone thought enough of her to put up this substantial stone, but who was Mrs Harriet Bray?

Apparently there are guided tours of the cemetery in the summer, so maybe we will find out.