Little Washbourne

There is a tiny church in the hamlet of Little Washbourne which I visit about once a year. It is no longer in regular use but remains consecrated. On at least one occasion, I have found the door open and evidence of sheep using it as a shelter. This does not offend me on religious grounds - I have no religion - but it does on aesthetic ones. This building is a relic of a past age of devotion with its box pews, pulpit with sounding board, simple table altar and remnants of wall painting. To be within its walls is to experience spiritual uplift, an elevation of the innner spirit we all possess, untainted by external ideologies. The building does not have to be a church for this to happen but they are often the only enclosed places which still have the inate peace and solitude.

It is also significant for me that my ancestors, the Bullingham family, were baptised here, married and buried here in the late 18th, early 19th centuries. They were poor and left no mark as they spread across Gloucestershire and the world, one to fight for the Confederate Army in the American Civil War. But I can imagine them in this place.