The grave(yard)'s a fine and quiet place

My apologies for the title of this blog in advance, but when I tell you why I was reminded of that specific line in Andrew Marvell's poem*, To His Coy Mistress, I hope you'll forgive me. 

It's now 16 years since I first came to the village where we have the Crumbly Cottage, and although I've often been in the church, I have, until this past week, never visited its churchyard. I'm not quite sure why; I usually like churchyards because of the local history they can reveal. I also like them for the peace they exude, so it's quite surprising that in all these years I've not ventured through the gates and wandered around.

I also don't know what prompted me to visit it this particular week, but when I was walking Zoe the other morning, I suddenly felt impelled to see it. Maybe it was as simple as wanting somewhere slightly different to walk from our usual circuit, but whatever pushed me through the gates, I'm very pleased it did.

The first surprise was a poignant memorial stone to all those from the village who'd lost their lives either during or as a result of WWII. Eight residents in a small community would have hit the local people quite hard, I imagine. Given that the Netherlands was occupied for the duration of the war, it's hard to  know how they died, but it was sobering to think that even in this quiet corner of the country, so many were lost. I can only speculate that maybe they were in the resistance, or perhaps they challenged the occupying forces in some way, or maybe they were deported. I would have to research that further, but it moved me to encounter the memorial just beyond the entrance.

The memorial and list of those who died

The second surprise was how neat and well tended the whole churchyard was. All the graves looked as if they were regularly visited and lovingly cared for. The grass was mown and the paths completely weed free. Whoever is responsible for the upkeep and maintenance does a marvellous job, as do all those whose relatives lie within its lovely grounds. Zoe and I spent some time strolling along the pathways, reading the touching messages on the headstones (well, I did, not Zoe of course) and sitting for a few minutes on one of the many benches available for those who just want to absorb the peace.

Everything is well tended
The walls of remembrance.
The churchyard is in a beautiful setting as well. Beyond it are fields backed with trees. There's no noise, no cars and no buildings in sight when looking out over the meadows, all of which adds to the tranquillity. 
A peaceful place to sit awhile
In a few months, the trees will be in leaf, which will give the
yard a fuller, more verdant appearance
On our way out
So yes, my visit brought the line in Mr Marvell's poem to mind. Our churchyard is indeed a fine and quiet place and I went home glad I'd taken that step through the gate. Now, of course, I'm also inspired to find out more about the history of the local families whose headstones I read.
It just goes to show that you don't have to travel far to find both peace and inspiration, do you? It's often remarkable how much we can overlook on our own doorsteps. Just a small diversion from my normal route resulted in this humbling and uplifting experience.
So that's it for this blog. Wishing you all a good week allemaal. Wherever you are, I hope the weather's being kind...we're counting the days till spring here.

* I read the poems of Andrew Marvell and his contemporaries in metaphysical poetry for my English Literature degree. I'm usually hopeless at remembering quotes, but that line obviously struck me as I've never forgotten it!