Well, that was lovely. We've just come back from a few days in Hampshire, staying in a lovely house beside the River Test. Trout wove their way in and out of reeds in the clear waters, mallards, coots, and moorhens pittered and pottered about, there were woods and gardens to wander in, and we visited Steventon Church.
If you like Jane Austen you've already said 'ooh!'. Steventon is where she grew up. Her father was the rector there, and apart from a bit of Victorian painting it can't have changed much since the days when the Austen family occupied the first couple of pews. Or more. There were a lot of Austens. Stories must have been setting seed in young Jane's mind as she tried to sit still in the sermons. The village is a bit of a trek from the church and paths were rougher than they are now, so she must have sat with a damp hem on wet days. I hope her feet were dry. And on a sunny day, the Austen children might have run off their after church energy chasing each other round the grounds. There is a massive yew tree in the grounds, a great place for hiding.
The story about the yew tree is that the church key, which was nine inches long and weighed 4 pounds, used to be kept in the hollow trunk until it was stolen. Tony reckoned that they keep the curate in there now. He also suggested that there might be a community of animals in the yew tree and gave me that sort of look as if I should write about it. Oh, no. Partly because I was on holiday. But also because this was Jane Austen's territory. I am not worthy.
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