More than Writers

In the large Lincolnshire village of Nettleham, close to where I live, there is a majestic church that has stood sentinel over the community for 800 years. The church is splendid and full of history both dreadful and delightful yet despite its charm and beauty (and I urge you to visit it if you ever get the chance) it is wandering through the graveyard that gives me the most pleasure. I know that makes me sound a bit weird and before you start removing me from your Facebook family or Twitter group, let me explain.  Rather than hang out in graveyards on a dark and stormy night, I prefer a bright, dry day complete with the melodies of blackbirds and the gravelly jackdaw voices that call grumpily to each other from the balls of dried twigs and grass they call home. As I walk among the stones, there is solemnness and peace almost tangible as a mark of respect for each life that spent time in our world. Most walked the earth for many years, some only a few but each person has left a foo...