Churches without the Hills…

Life and death work in such complicated patterns, interweaving and augmenting each other’s designs. Yes, I’m going all churchy at the moment as a result of inheriting a collection of books that belonged to a woman whose path mine has so often intersected. Time waits for no man and it certainly won’t hang around for me to get to the point of my post. The point is that I have been visiting churches as result of reading a marvellous book wrtten by Simon Jenkins an ex journalist for The Times and Evening Standard.

The book is brilliant and it weighs a tonne (Anglo-Saxon spelling – I think). It’s informative, entertaining (I think) and it has lots of lovely photos. This tome has become a constant companion during these blank days of lockdown and it has led me out onto the roads of east Yorkshire in order to seek out the undeniable truth of its churches. Recently, I have become a convert to the Anglo Saxon square tower church variety as opposed to the showy and rather domineering Norman one. The Normans were about imposing themselves and their idea of God onto the ignorant of the land that they conquered and resolutely subjugated.

Churches without Hills is a little obscure pun on my previous Churchill posts…

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