Life in a village sometimes has its downside. Every hearse conveys a neighbour or friend on their final journey and every funeral moves you closer to the top of the Grim Reaper’s list. One minute they’re there and the next they’ve gone. In London I was dealing with death and bodies every day but never knew any of them personally. I’m not sure which of these scenarios I prefer. Thank God the village has a school. New lives play just yards from the graves and tombs of former pupils who lie beneath them in the churchyard next door. Funny old world isn’t it. Wonder what it’s all for.
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