Along the Brook and Through the Fields to Hambleden
The old church smelled like old church – a slight whiff of damp and ancient stone that the fresh air can’t reach because the doors stay closed to keep the jackdaws out. I sat in one of the few pews that weren’t blocked off by stacks of kneeling prayer cushions, made of tightly tapestried wool in an assortment of colourful designs. I was the only person there. Saint Mary the Virgin Church is huge in comparison to the tiny but…
