I am back in my country of origin—England—in Sussex, where many buildings are ancient. Houses are built in the Tudor style, and some actually are from that period. It’s a place where many roofs are still thatched. The most common thatching material used across southern England is combed wheat reed, which has been processed to remove the grain and short pieces, resulting in a neat, crisp finish. I particularly love to see a roof where the thatcher has added an animal to the ridge. Today I saw a beautiful fox, an owl, and a dog during my afternoon walk to the beach.
This morning, I agreed to go to church with my mother because she kept asking.
“It is quite High Church,” she said.
“That’ll be OK as long as they don’t use too much incense,” I replied.
“They hardly use any,” my mother said.
As the minutes ticked past 10:15 a.m., we watched from the window, waiting for the taxi to arrive. He was late because of roadworks and heavy traffic on the highway. But finally, we were off, speeding around corners along narrow roads lined with parked cars and high hedges. I sat in the back, steeling myself not to flinch sure the taxi was going to hit a car on my side of the road. I was reminded of the time I drove my sister’s car, and her only worry was that I mind her wheel rims on the edge of the road. I remember thinking, What about my side—and the oncoming traffic? All was fine; I never hit anything on any side of the car. That was 2017. Now, I notice there are many more cars on the road, they’re so much bigger, and the roads seem much smaller. We arrived in one piece, my mother not at all fazed by the driving.
The Church of St Mary the Virgin, Barnham
The site of the church is ancient. The original parish of Barnham is recorded in the Domesday Book of 1086, but the first documented transaction involving the church was in 1105, when King Henry I—best known for achieving peace and stability in England and Normandy—bestowed St Mary’s, along with many other local churches, upon the Benedictine Abbey of Lessay in France. During excavations around the church, Saxon artifacts were found, suggesting there was probably a church on the site as early as the 5th century AD.
Unlike the ancient church of my youth, Worth Church in Crawley, it was warm inside. What I didn’t realize—until the first swing of the thurible (incense holder)—was just how High Church this service would be. (The rising smoke symbolizes prayers rising to heaven.) From what I learned on Google, there are many different kinds of tree resins used for incense. I think that today, because it was Remembrance Sunday, the incense used was Styrax—a dark, balsamic resin that gives a rich, smoky aroma. But for me, as my eyes burned and my throat constricted while I tried to breathe through my mouth instead of my nose, I wondered: would I have been convicted as a witch for my sensitivity? I had to escape.
Outside the church, the air was sweet—the scent of freshly cut grass, wet and cool. Tombstones, large and small, rose and sank, leaning and broken, in the damp earth, both recent and ancient. Fresh flowers stood in vases; worn stems tipped over nearby. Rubbish bins were hidden behind sheds. Flintstone walls and metal benches came into view as I circled the churchyard until I felt better.