Posted on All Souls’ Day…

Here lyeth the sleeping dust.   Headstone in Sourton Churchyard.

A couple of weeks ago – I went to a concert in Widecombe Church – called, ‘Sounds Baroque’.  It was part of the Two Moors Festival, and my ticket was a belated birthday gift from my mother, whom I accompanied.  Quite why my mother thought a free-spirit like me, would enjoy being cooped-up on a Friday afternoon listening to baroque music is unclear…

Needless to say – I found myself uncomfortably confined in the middle of a long row, seated next to my mother – admittedly with a good view of the quartet, directly opposite the altar and the stained glass window above. Outside, Dartmoor was wild, windy and wet – and through a clear glass tracery window to the side of the nave – I could see a tantalising glimpse of the tors above Widecombe; how I longed to be outside…

Although world-class musicians – the music they were making sounded to my ears like a complete dirge – and my mind started to wander, with thoughts of someone ‘nameless’. I tried desperately to focus on the stained glass window – but Jesus couldn’t save me – and I dissolved irreverently. Containing a fit of the giggles in such a formal setting proved nigh on impossible.  With muffled squeaks, I sat there with my face buried in my scarf – conscious that my shoulders were all-a-shudder to those seated behind!

As one of the quartet gave an intense solo harpsichord performance – I seized the moment  to make a break for the door – first having to embarrassingly brush passed the bemused people in my row…

With a final excruciating clunk of the heavy metal latch on the church door, I was free; PHEW!  I stood at the threshold and the beauty of the rain-soaked moor washed over me,  I took a deep breath of soft, warm, damp air and my laughter ebbed away – and I was quite myself again.

My mother remained in the church – and enjoyed the concert fully.

I paid my respects to Beatrice Chase – and then ‘stumbled’ into the National Trust shop – where I found two aptly inscribed heart-shaped stones – one for my mother and one for myself…

Before the concert ended – I returned to the ‘Cathedral in the Moor’.  I stood outside in the soft, wind-blown drizzle – and listened at the door…

The divine purity of the soprano’s voice inside, mingled with the wind’s song as it whistled around the cornerstones of the church tower – and unexpectedly I found myself rapt. Despite my earlier heathenish behaviour, providence it would seem had got me the best ‘seat’ standing.

As always – my mother was forgiving.  On the journey home, she graciously received my ‘laughter stone’ at the Soussons stone circle near Postbridge – a souvenir of a joyful afternoon spent together, albeit mostly apart!

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Ideally, I go to church when nobody is there – to absorb the light, the quietness and the unique smell of the hallowed space; it’s then I feel comfortable – at one.

Joyously silent.  Aglow inside a Dartmoor church .

Eventide.