East Anglian Marshland Memories

A Memory of Holbeach St Marks.

I sat and talked with a man of God, about people and places we have known and loved. As part of my life being spent on the Marsh, formative years that were oft-times harsh. Such happy memories tumbled back to me, when he spoke of the villages I had been and named winding roads we had both travelled along, despite the time difference in between.
Once more I could sense the feel of the place, along with the sea salt on my lips to taste. Breathe again, the air so fresh, that comes with the tide over mud-flat and creek. Surging and seeping with a power all its own, covering the marshland for centuries doing. Feel the dank grey mist of the morning, kiss and cling, that swirls around so eerily. Waiting for the sun you knew would break through, so warm and bright and cheery. Plus the winds that batter and bruise the soul as it roars around in it's fury. The smell of the flat fertile land giving forth it's harvest, humming,
droning sound of machinery.
To the sound of the wild geese crying overhead, I had laid as a child for rest in my bed.
With a man of God I talked of these things, not a word of religion was spoken. Yet, through the warm memories this conversation transpired. God's love and re-assurance.
( I was confirmed at Holbeach St. Marks Church 1960. Happy days.
Sheila (Wally) Walpole)

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