inspired by death

We visited Dent in the Yorkshire Dales this afternoon. The car park was full so we expected the village to be buzzing with tourists. Wrong. We thought perhaps we had walked into a film set. Wrong. We were witnessing the funeral of the Reverend Arthur Barker, who had retired in 1976 after serving in the parish for fifteen years. He had died in Surrey at the grand old age of 101. The muffled church bell tolled as the congregation gathered round his grave. Later, we heard their cheerful voices in the village hall, celebrating the life of a well known figure and enjoying one another's company. He must have been a popular person. We looked inside the empty church. The brasses shone and the pews smelt of wax polish. A vase of white lilies stood by the pulpit. We peeped inside one of the ancient box pews. A soft toy and a half completed jigsaw lay abandoned on the floor.

We wandered up to the top end of the village and came across a house with the strange name of Copplethwaite. The owner explained that it was the name of the place where his grandfather had buried his favourite carthorse. The field was way up at the top of a hill and the dead horse had to be dragged on a sledge, pulled by an old caterpillar tractor. It had taken him three days to dig the hole. The horse's name was Daisy, 'But', said the grandson, 'I couldn't call my house Daisy, so I named it after the field where he was buried instead'. There must have been such a strong bond between horse and farmer.

So, my blip today can't really do justice to the memory of these two special lives. Far from being just a film set, it was a place with a real soul. I was inspired.