St Theobald's Church (ruins), Hautbois01603 737255workChurchA gentle walk (200 yards ) from the Great Hautbois Road. In 2009 a visitor wrote:
"A ruined church, winter bare trees in the deserted churchyard and the jackdaws' cry. All are reminders of mortality - a fitting backdrop for the Lenten fast! The reused bricks and conglomerate stone incorporated by the 11th century the builders recall "the glories that were Rome". Once this building housed a miraculous wonder-working image of St. Theobald to which pilgrims flocked. Often when I come here to pray , there's just me and some friendly horses. That's fine for someone who seeks solitude but do these deserted and neglected ruins point towards the Church of England future?" Ah! I have left out the most amazing thing that one day totally transformed a dismal scene! "A host of ….daffodils !" On a March day back in 2009, like William Wordsworth's Lake District flowers, these were abundant and "danced and fluttered in the breeze." I think I know what the poet meant when he wrote: For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils."
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A gentle walk (200 yards ) from the Great Hautbois Road. In 2009 a visitor wrote:
"A ruined church, winter bare trees in the deserted churchyard and the jackdaws' cry. All are reminders of mortality - a fitting backdrop for the Lenten fast! The reused bricks and conglomerate stone incorporated by the 11th century the builders recall "the glories that were Rome". Once this building housed a miraculous wonder-working image of St. Theobald to which pilgrims flocked. Often when I come here to pray , there's just me and some friendly horses. That's fine for someone who seeks solitude but do these deserted and neglected ruins point towards the Church of England future?" Ah! I have left out the most amazing thing that one day totally transformed a dismal scene! "A host of ….daffodils !" On a March day back in 2009, like William Wordsworth's Lake District flowers, these were abundant and "danced and fluttered in the breeze." I think I know what the poet meant when he wrote: For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils."