Church of The Holy Trinity, Chantry

Jottings from a country churchyard

I LOVE AUTUMN. It’s my favourite season, although November this year has been rather damp and soggy. But we mustn’t complain, remembering the terrible floods in Spain and other places. I look forward to Spring, with its renewal of life and flowery surprise but it’s the anticipation of it that I enjoy. I find the reality too fraught with restlessness and promises so often unfulfilled. Autumn for me is a time of quiet reflection and contentment – the end of anxieties such as will the weather be fine for outside events commitments, will I have unexpected guests when I am in the middle of a pile of ironing, washing my hair or the lawn needs mowing? In the shorter days of autumn there is less chance of distant visitors so one can invite local friends, light the log fire, ignore the lawn and exchange local chat or “put the world to rights” as my Mum would say. At this time of year, too, I love my long garden path. It is flanked with a huge beech on one side and a Spanish sweet chestnut on the other. Between them the copper pennies of the beech and the serrated ovals of the chestnut form a golden carpet winding through overarching shrubs from my rickety iron gate to my hidden house. And if we get a few dry sunny days I have the joy of scuffling through the leaves and beechmast revelling in the rustle and crunch like an aged toddler, alongside my beloved dog, Ebbie, who wears her years more gracefully and thinks, no doubt, that I am quite mad. As I write this in mid-November, we are fast approaching Advent in the church calendar. I have just finished refreshing and re-dressing the Advent wreath, something I enjoy doing every year. The fat (and expensive) red candles which have done many years of service are growing a bit short so I have experimented by adding a block of polystyrene glued to the bases and covered in red tape to match the candles. The extensions sink into the candle-holders, hidden by foliage, and will give at least a couple more year of burning time so I was quite pleased with the result. At my age (92) a couple of years is as far as I can optimistically plan so perhaps when the time comes for candle replacements it will be someone else’s problem. Talking of looking ahead, another thing I do at this time of year is walk around all my old trees, especially the ancient apple trees in the orchard, telling them to rest well and sleep quietly though the winter and wake refreshed and renewed in Spring. And I tell them “I will be here to see you” as much to reassure myself as for their benefit. I have been so blessed with good health up to now – it is two and half years since my cancer op and as far as I know I am “fit as flea” (well as a fit as a 92-year-old flea anyway). But circumstances can change in an instant so I keep praying “Please Lord, don’t send the bill in yet”, there is still so much I need to do. But, season by season, I feel I mustn’t be greedy and ungrateful. Oh dear! All this and I haven’t mentioned the churchyard yet. There, like everywhere else at the moment, is a season of calm and little happening. By the time the next 5Alive appears in February the grass will be laced with thousands of snowdrops, patched with clusters of pale mauve crocus and the worms and wind will have removed most of the huge hand-shaped leaves beneath the conker tree. That tree, like its companions, is now showing its beautiful bone structure. Its cloak of of summer leaves now shed, each tree exposes its individual silhouette and whatever birds are around are easier to spot among the branches. Talking of birds, a bird-watching – perhaps I should say a bird-aware - friend said last week that fieldfares had already arrived locally. That seems early and I wonder why. Surely with global warming universal, there is less inclination for migrants to travel early to warmer climates? Perhaps someone with greater knowledge of migratory habits might have views of this? Well, by the time this appears in print, December and the run up to Christmas will be upon us. I am sure that, in what ca be a stressful time of preparation socially and economically, we all spare time to remember what Christmas is really about: sharing the joyful celebrations of the arrival of the Holy Child. I hope everyone has a joyful, peaceful Christmas, spent in congenial company. And if anyone finds themselves – or knows of someone who would be – unexpectedly and unwillingly alone on Christmas Day, there are always spare chairs at Bird Shadows and a warm welcome by the log fire. Wishing everyone all the blessings of Christmas and a really good New Year. See you in 2025.

Hazell Tovey