Little gems

Last week I explored a different route from town to campus. Shortly after you emerge from that tunnel underneath the railway tracks you reach a sort of field, a public park almost, and here the path diverges. Usually I keep going, through the field, as the path takes me all the way back up to Tyler. But the path to the left says ‘University’, and everyone seems to go that way, so finally I decided to try it myself. It zigzagged through several banal suburban streets before depositing me somewhere on campus that wasn’t really near anywhere. It left me feeling a little nonplussed. I think I’ll stick to my usual route.

The path I take to and from Tyler tells little stories of its own. Off to the side of the field stands a tiny tree, festooned with colourful strips of ribbon that flutter delicately in the cold wind. The plaque stuck into the earth at the base of the tree reads simply:

This tree is planted in memory of
Catherine Rosemary Jane Treader
Aged 24
Who was tragically taken on
31st May 1999
“We love you and miss you”
Family and friends

You walk a little further on past this, and just as you leave the field and turn right, you come upon Glebe Cottage.

Glebe Cottage took my breath away the first time I saw it. I remember standing there, transfixed, having just come down the hill from Tyler. I’d got lost somewhere past the Old Beverlie pub, and had had to ask in the post office nearby for directions. The directions I was given, as it turned out, brought me right across the street and face to face with Glebe.

Not that it’s particularly grandiose, or imposing, or even handsome. But there’s something about this little cottage, tucked away into its little corner, that has reached out and grabbed me. There’s something about its myopic old windows, and its funny lopsided door, that I find hard to tear myself away from. I’m ready to move in right away.

Every time I walk past, it looks empty. I have no idea who the owners are. The only thing I know about it is that it’s in a little village area called Hackington, about halfway between campus and town, and there’s a little church nearby called St. Stephen’s that looks very, very old.

When I first saw this church I thought to myself, That’s a very old church, and, I must explore it sometime.

I finally found the opportunity today. I wandered through the graveyard first – to an archaeologist, any church with its own graveyard is cause for excitement, as each headstone has years, sometimes centuries, of history behind it. The headstones here date back to the early 19th century. Scattered among the more sedate Victorian slabs you can find the occasional, more traditional, Celtic cross wrought with intricate knotwork. I wonder how many people realise just how pagan that symbol really is?


After a few moments I ventured timidly into the church proper, to find myself greeted by a hive of activity. A whole phalanx of villagers was hard at work cleaning and sweeping and scrubbing. I had walked straight into, as it happened, their annual cleaning of St. Stephen’s, “an autumn cleaning as opposed to a spring cleaning,” explained one of the women who stopped to say hello. I was told that I was welcome to have a look around and take pictures, “as long as you don’t take any of us!”

For such a tiny church St. Stephen’s has quite a distinguished past. It was built in three stages. The oldest bit, the nave where all the people sit, was built in 1050 AD. Just think about it: 1050 AD. Forty-five more years, and it’ll be a thousand years old! That’s definitely got to be in the Domesday Book. The chancel, where the altar is, was added on in the 1300s along with the tower, and finally around 1650 they added on the two transepts, little alcoves off to either side of the nave which give the English church its typical cruciform shape. Just thinking of the amount of history this little church has behind it makes my head spin.

The memorial slabs inside date back much earlier than the headstones in the graveyard, to at least the mid-18th century. The stained glass behind the altar depicts Jesus (centre) along with John, Mark, Luke and Judas…did I get that right? Or was there a Paul in there? I always inadvertently think of John, Paul, George and Ringo. No, but look at the stained glass – it’s gorgeous. You can even see St. Stephen being stoned to death.

I wonder if anyone can tell me more about who he was?