Image by Christine Renney
Mark and I often drive out into the Fens which is like visiting another country – reclaimed from the sea, roads that move because of what is below them, canals which rise up to your left and right, yards above your head. We came across the church in a village called Guyhirn. There appear to be no graves in what was the churchyard. It was bleak and dark.
Spartan Eye 
I know this church. I was born in Wisbech and used to drive through Guyhirn on visits to relatives. It’s a small world!
Who would have thought it? So, you are a fen boy who escaped the land of the would be cowboy? It is so interesting there but slightly weird, doncha think? Not that I mean you are weird Chris….
I agree – a little eerie, partiy I think because of the stillness combined with the openness of the landscape. Strange how we allign ourselves too. I was bery young when I left the Fens, and am more a Brummie really, although I’ve lived more than half my life in the Black Country, yet there is still a part of me that is Fen Tiger!
Fen Tiger vs Brummie – what a bout that would be! You are right about the stillness – it seems as though life stands still there but of course we tend to visit at weekends so miss the every day life. Even so, to see so far and to see almost nothing – that is unworldly.
Good cycing country! I’d miss the hills of I ever went back!