My Dad - a Memory of Whitchurch Canonicorum.
The church at Whitchurch is a lovely place to wander and muse. My father died out shooting at Mapperton when I was 11, and what a terrible shock it was.
What is nice for me now, 25 years later, is to still be able to walk down through the village past the 5 Bells pub, or over the lovely rolling fields, to the church yard where his grave lies amongst the rustling of the trees, birds chatting to each other, gentle sunshine making patterns on the grass as it peeks through the trees, and a general sense of timelessness and peace that I have found over recent years to be so soothing.
What a special place!!
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